


Badass Virginians to the Rescue

by AuntieEm30



Series: Badass Virginians [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AU - Modern, Discussion of risk of self harm, Discussion of survivor guilt, Gen, Reference to off-screen character death, Trichotillomania, Washingdad, Washingmom, brief attempted mugging / assault of a minor, foster care / Adoption AU, minor / early stages self harm (no blood), neurodivergent characters, over-use of parentheses, reference to natural disaster, some racism, traumatic flashback(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2020-05-20 02:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 56,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19368172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntieEm30/pseuds/AuntieEm30
Summary: Alexander is 14, scrawny, and travelling the city at night, returning to the group home, when he’s accosted by a group of drunks from a nearby bar.  Fortunately for him, they draw the attention of a certain pair.  If he can corral his issues with male authority figures and overall lack of trust, he might walk away from an attempted jumping with brighter prospects for the future.





	1. March I - Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, I’m hella late to the fandom party. But I’m inspired for once and craving more Washingdad/mom content, thus I must create more Washingdad/mom content. So here I am, shamelessly hopping on the modern foster care/adoption AU wagon. 
> 
> The title is lame but it's what I got.
> 
> Un-betaed. No research; we die like a ragtag volunteer army in need of a shower.

Alexander Hamilton knew he was late. He couldn’t particularly muster the will to care.

He’d gone straight to the local branch of the public library after school, completed his homework, and continued his own personal research on a vast array of subjects. He’d stayed, in his own personal bubble of knowledge, until the librarian regretfully nudged him to the door at closing time.

That had been nearly an hour ago. Public transport plus walking was slow like that.

He knew Director Tallmadge would be disappointed in him, and he did feel slightly bad about that. She seemed like a decent woman, doing her best for all the kids. But he couldn’t help it. He hated spending time at the home. She had to know that hardly any of the kids actually wanted to spend more time there than was necessary.

And it wasn’t even like it was horrible or nightmarish, despite what the foster care stories suggested. It just… didn’t feel right. It wasn’t a good place to study with so many kids in such confined spaces, there was no sense of cultural or intellectual identity to be found there. Mom wasn’t there.

More than anything, it was a constant reminder that he was still adrift. That he was still alone, and that he had to wait to make something of himself – either until he got into college on a scholarship (and that was a painfully long way off), or until someone decided to foster him long-term.

Not likely.

He didn’t exactly give the best first impressions.

Of course, sometimes it was the “first impressions” of others that weren’t so kind to him, which he was about to re-learn.

He was about three blocks away from the home, in an admittedly less-than-great part of town, when he was passing by a bar, the shouted conversations and chinking glasses and pool ball collisions bleeding out onto the street from inside. He’d nearly passed the building when the door opened, and three semi-muscular guys stumbled out. The first out the door staggered directly into Alex.

“Watch it, punk,” he slurred. Alex glared.

“You should take your own advice, man. I was just walking, you’re the one who wasn’t watching where you were going.” 

His words seemed to focus the drunk guys’ attention on him, which he suddenly realized probably wasn’t the best. They were different heights, but all had similar haircuts, similar clothes, and similar bearings. Basically, they all seemed like douchebags, but they were douchebags bigger than him and outnumbering him. The middle one leaned forward into his face.

“You wanna check your attitude, little Mexican?” His breath reeked of cheap beer and hard liquor.

A twisted combination of anger and grim amusement rose in Alex’s chest, dulling the echo of his escalating heartbeat in his mind. He barked out a short laugh.

“Wow. An insult that’s inaccurate, unoriginal, and not even an actual insult. If you were drinking to kill brain cells, you certainly got your money’s worth.”

He probably should have anticipated the meaty hands that grabbed his arms, dragging him around the corner to an alley.

Before he could fully process what was happening, he was being shoved against a brick wall with three men towering over him, his book bag digging into his back, fists pressing his shoulders still so he couldn’t even take a swing. The various insults and threats and shoves started to blur together almost immediately, and as much as he wanted to fight, there was a fuzziness starting to creep through his brain. All he could do was use what little freedom he retained in his arms to cross his hands over his face, and throw out low haphazard kicks.

“Get lost, assholes!”

Alex heard a relatively feminine voice over the sounds of the drunks and the buzzing in his own head. The tiny part of his mind not devoted to the fight couldn’t help but despair –his instinct said a woman was less likely to be a direct physical threat, but also had less chance of scaring big guys off. 

But it wasn’t just one figure that suddenly sprung into his field of vision.

The guy holding Alex against the bar wall was abruptly yanked back, his grip on Alex’s shirt dislodging and allowing the teen to stagger further into the alley. Next to where he’d been, the shortest guy’s knee suddenly gave out, and the person Alex assumed to be the woman who spoke, based on her shape in the dim light, followed that with a knee to the face. Shortest guy went down, rolling onto his back with a yell and a hand to his nose.

The tallest guy, the one who’d been yanked away flailing, was being briefly but soundly punched in the face by tall, broad-shouldered man in a weirdly clean-cut suit, before being bodily shoved, yelling incoherently, out of the alley. That left Medium Douchebag.

Unfortunately, Medium Douchebag then decided to pull out large a pocket knife. He advanced not on the interceptors, but on Alex.

“Ah, hell no,” he heard the same voice mutter.

Then, Medium Douchebag was being pierced by the prongs of what Alex dazedly recognized as a taser gun. Medium Douchebag convulsed on his feet for a second that seemed to stretch out in Alex’s mind, before collapsing onto his front. The big guy in the suit looked at the other two expectantly, a furious edge to his face. 

Tall Douchebag and Short Douchebag took this as a cue to depart, and staggered / ran out of the alley and away from the bar, abandoning their felled brethren.

“Yeah. Pick on someone your own size and number next time, shit-heads!” the woman yelled after the retreating figures. Once the drunk guys were out of sight, she turned to share a tense look with the suited guy, before they both turned to Alex, who was still panting from the fight and from adrenaline. 

“Jesus. You alright, kid?” the woman asked. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Alex let out. A little corner of his brain was embarrassed at how his voice shook. The rest didn’t care. He forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. “Thanks for-“ He waved his hand vaguely. “For stepping in. Yeah.”

The woman smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it. Take it easy for a minute. What’s your name?” 

He paused, considering, then decided a first name couldn’t hurt. “Alex,” he muttered. She nodded, smiling. He noticed now that she wore a pretty knee-length dress beneath a dark jacket. Meanwhile, the suited man was bending over the tased guy, checking his pulse. Following that, he snapped his fingers in the woman’s direction. When she turned around, he held out an open hand.

“Ah,” she replied, reaching into her purse and tossing him what turned out to be a medical pen light, which the man used to check the responsiveness of Tased Douchebag’s pupils (Alex had seen it on some medical show he’d caught on the home’s TV once). Seemingly satisfied, he let out a huff and stood, approaching them.

“Who… who are you guys?” He wouldn’t pretend that these people having both a taser and medical equipment in their possession didn’t freak him out a little.

The woman stood a little straighter, seeming surprised at having been asked. “Oh. I’m Martha, and this is my husband George. Give him another minute or so; he tends to get a bit nonverbal when something really pisses him off.”

“Oh,” Alex replied, his voice rising slightly in pitch. His heart started beating faster again. “Does… does he get really pissed off often?” he asked faintly, eyes darting around and between them for escape routes if necessary.

The woman calling herself Martha picked up on it immediately, raising her hands in a placating gesture.

“Oh! No. Don’t worry. It was the guys ganging up on you that set us both off, really.” She looked over to the man. “George?” she prompted.

He took a deep breath, coming to stand at Martha’s side. Getting a better look at Alex, he blanched, and seemed to try to make himself less threatening – given his stature, not an easy task.

“It’s alright, son. We just want to make sure you’re ok. Do you need us to call 9-1-1?”

Alex shook his head quickly, bristling somewhat. No way did he want any authorities involved.

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.” The three looked awkwardly at each other for a moment. Alex’s leg twitched with tension.

“Well, thanks, like I said. I’ll just be going then.” He made to step forward.

“Wait,” George said quickly, looking oddly anxious. “I gotta say, you… you look pretty young to be out at this time by yourself. Shouldn’t you be home? Are your parents around?”

Immediately Alex’s unease was pushed aside by a familiar rush of sour defensiveness, well-worn and comforting in its own strange way.

“I’m old enough,” he retorted hotly. “And never mind my parents. And me, what about you? What’s a couple of fancy people like you two doing in a neighborhood like this?”

George’s brows furrowed at the sudden shift to offense; Alex couldn’t tell if he was angered again or just surprised. Martha remained nonplussed, however.

“Ah. Well, George and I met at a Vietnamese restaurant in this area, so we always come back for our anniversary. Hence me not being in scrubs for once,” she added with an easy smile. “But he does raise a good question. We just want to make sure you’re safe, and honestly you look like you’re twelve. You really shouldn’t be out alone at this hour.” 

“Twelve?!” Alex sputtered, incensed with every ounce of bruised adolescent pride.

“So how old are you, then, Alex?” George prompted.

The teen debated refusing to answer, as these were still strangers, and it wasn’t really their business. But, he figured that wouldn’t get him on his way any faster.

“Fourteen,” he mumbled. 

George huffed. “Ah, much better. You’ll be ready to start a 401k soon,” he said, not unkindly. Alex glared.

“Fine,” he bit out. “I’m fourteen, my parents are gone, and I’m out late because I was in the library till closing because I get more done there than at the group home. Sue me.”

He breathed heavily in the ensuing quiet, stunned by his own outburst. What idiocy had compelled him to tell two strangers his business? Not all of it, of course, but that much? What the hell?

The two adults stared. “You’re… in the foster system?” George asked quietly. Alex snorted.

“Yeah, minus the fostering currently,” he replied curtly. He immediately wanted to kick himself again. The home supervisor said his tendency to talk without thinking was his biggest challenge, he remembered. He didn’t want to think too hard about what kind of trouble it might have just landed him in.

George was looking at him intently. For what reason, Alex couldn’t begin to know. Then the man lightly grasped his wife’s wrist.

“Martha…” he muttered. She looked at him for a moment, then at an inexact point on the brick wall, an expression of realization dawning on her face.

“Oh,” she murmured. She looked back at Alex. 

“Excuse us for just a moment. Spousely conference.” They then turned to each other with their backs mostly toward him, whispering to each other, indistinguishably from Alex’s position. Intermittently one or the other would look back over their shoulder at him, before facing the other again. Alex was, for lack of a better word, baffled, and more than a little ready to bolt. Who knew what they were talking about? Could they be about to call the cops on him, or kidnap him as a perceived easy target, or what? 

Finally, they seemed to come to some conclusion, and they turned back to face him, hands clasped tightly between them.

“Alex,” George began seriously, “I know this is a bit forward since you just met us. But would you be interested in actually having the fostering part of the foster care system?”

Alex stared. 

Then he burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it, as cruel as it was, his brain shot past anger and hurt and disbelief to hysterical amusement.

But then he looked more closely at their expressions. Martha was trying to smile encouragingly in the face of his reaction, and George looked… cautious. Almost… vulnerable.

His laughter abruptly lost steam, and died off. He stared some more.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

 

TBC…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was, in fact, directly if loosely inspired by the scene in Dogma where Jay and Silent Bob save Bethany from the evil triplets. Now 93% more family-friendly. Yes, my brain is just that weird.
> 
> If I continue to be inspired, there will be at least a second part to this. It might be a while though.


	2. March II - Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A question gets (slowly) answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo-hoo! I'm still inspired.

In the end, after being assured that Martha and George were very much serious in their offer, Alex was left not only shaken but also in quite a dilemma. He wanted to run from the unknown, but also was burning to see how this could possibly play out.

He shook his head.

One step at a time.

For one thing, he couldn’t just go with them now even if he wanted to. It was starting to get extremely late, and the night supervisor would definitely be starting to worry.

Not to mention that if these two were serious, they had to go through the right channels. Paperwork and approval and stuff like that.

He never thought having that bureaucratic buffer period would a comfort. First time for everything.

Eventually he cautiously told them how to get in touch with his caseworker Beatrice, which they both diligently put into their phones.

“Do you want us to walk you the rest of the way?” Martha asked.

“No,” Alex replied quickly. He was edging toward a leap of faith with these two. That didn’t make him an idiot.

They both accepted it, still looking anxious.

“Will you at least call us to let us know you made it back safe?” George implored. Alex considered a moment, before nodding reluctantly. He didn’t have a phone, so he’d have to use the one at the home front desk. Martha recited her number (her phone had more charge left), and he wrote it on his hand with a pen pulled from his backpack. When he was done, he shrugged awkwardly.

“Well, I guess that’s it. If you’re serious, then I’ll guess I’ll see you in a couple days or so.”

“We look forward to it,” George replied encouragingly. Alex nodded, still not quite willing to believe it fully. People didn’t just step into the night to literally rescue him and offer him a family at the same time. It couldn’t be that simple, and he wouldn’t let himself get lured into a bad situation. He pulled back his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“And don’t make me regret giving you Beatrice’s number,” he said in his most commanding voice (which given that he was mid-puberty, wasn’t saying much). “If I find out you’re sex traffickers or something, you’re gonna get it.”

After blinking in surprise for a second, Martha shook her head with a grim, sad half-smile. “I can guarantee we’re not sex traffickers, or anything of the like,” she replied; George looked mildly queasy at the thought. 

“In fact, we’ve actually already had our background checks. Maybe that will put you a bit at ease,” he offered, voice subdued.

Alex blinked, surprised. “Oh. Ok. I guess, we’ll see then.”

A moment of silence spread between them. Alex was starting to feel claustrophobic.

“Well… bye,” he said quickly, starting to power walk away. “Thanks again. I’ll call when I get there.”

“Take care!” Martha called after him. When he was out of sight, she let out a bemused breath. “Well, that was…” she trailed off.

“Yeah,” George muttered. They stood quietly a moment, before George shook his head. “We’ve done all we can tonight. We should probably…” he waved a hand at the now-stirring drunk douchebag. 

“Right you are,” Martha said grimly. They both seized the drunkard under the armpits, hefted him to his feet, and dragged him around the corner, to explain the situation and leave him to the mercy of the bar security.

***************************************************

 

When Beatrice approached Alex with a smile the next day and said that a couple was interested in fostering him, he tried not to let his hopes get too high. Life experience had taught him that plenty of things could still go wrong. 

“They’re actually in the area, so if you’d like we can meet up and get a feel for them before we make a decision,” she said encouragingly.

Alex took a deep breath before nodding. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

This was how he found himself seated beside Beatrice and across from the Washingtons in a coffee shop the next day (he didn’t have school since it was Saturday). He pushed his hands down against his knees under the table to keep them from fidgeting. He did at least feel marginally more comfortable, since Beatrice had shared some of the basics of the profile the Washingtons had filled out with him. George had spoken true; their background checks were already complete through the state of Virginia, and they’d both passed with flying colors.

“So Alex…” George began. Alex noticed that the man had a pen in his hand that he was absentmindedly spinning it around a finger like a drumstick. “Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?” 

Crap.

“Heh,” Alex let out a weak chuckle. So far, this had been one of the worst parts of the process, and part of why he didn’t make the best first impressions – he was always resistant to talking about his background. It was still too much.

“Myself,” he muttered, trying to push himself into unlocking the words.

Martha tilted her head, looking at him shrewdly. Here it comes, he thought, the part where they realize they don’t want a kid who’s so cagey…

“It’s hard to talk about yourself to new people, isn’t it?” she asked sympathetically. He blinked in surprise, before nodding. She returned it.

“I always hated introducing myself in a new environment. Maybe we could break it down a bit. What are your favorite subjects in school?”

“Oh,” he let out a breath, feeling relief rush through him. That was easy, he could talk about school for longer than was probably healthy. “Um, writing and history, definitely. I’m pretty good at math, but I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite. But I’m open to studying a lot of different things. Actually, part of why I’m looking forward to high school is that then we’ll learn civics and government. They don’t teach economics, though, which in my opinion is a shame.” He paused, suddenly wondering if he’d said too much, but no – the adults across from him were beaming.

“How ‘bout that, hon?” Martha asked George quietly, leaning towards him as if they were in on a shared secret.

“It’s great to hear you’re so passionate about learning,” George replied warmly. The pen was now on the table, his hand resting over it. “I bet you’d be a credit to any school you attend.”

Alex flushed, mumbling a quiet thanks, looking down at his drink for a moment. He cleared his throat. 

“So what about you two? What do you do?” Besides save the butts of vertically-challenged teens out too late.

They each took a turn giving a brief description of their occupation: Martha was a radiologist, and George taught history at a university, and was the advisor for the school’s student government (that must explain Martha’s comment to him, Alex thought). 

“Wow. Those must have taken a lot of school and training,” Alex commented.

“Sure did,” Martha nodded. “Though some of us had to slog through more school than others,” she said, sending a wry grin sideways to her husband.

George lightly nudged her arm with his elbow.

“Popeye here’s just jealous.”

“You wish,” she retorted, nudging him back.

Alex’s brows furrowed in confusion. “’Popeye?’” he asked. Beatrice jumped in, stirring her coffee.

“Oh, it said in your file that you’re both prior military?”

“Yup,” George replied. “Me commissioned Army, Martha enlisted Navy.”

“We’re pretty much contractually obligated to give each other crap over it now and then,” Martha added with a shrug, “but all in good fun.”

“Huh.” Alex hadn’t decided yet how he felt about American military (and he imagined that once he did, it would change over the course of his life), but Martha and George certainly didn’t seem like scary “drill sergeant” types. He shook his head, putting aside that train of thought for later.

“Beatrice said you’re from Mount Vernon. That’s not exactly next door to Richmond; what brought you to our area? I mean, besides your anniversary. Happy late anniversary, by the way.” They both looked clearly delighted and touched that he’d remembered.

“Thank you, Alex,” George said with a wide smile, picking the pen up again but not spinning it. He just seemed to like holding it. Alex distantly thought that the behavior seemed somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Well, we both also wanted to check out the art museum and the historical sites," Martha answered. "Since it’s spring break, George has off from the college, and I especially enjoy distance driving once you get out of the city, plus I’ve got a lot of vacation time saved up, so we decided to make a long weekend out of it. And so far, I’m really glad we did.”

Alex flushed again, but didn’t want to make any presumptions.

“I’m- I’m pretty glad you guys did too – I mean, otherwise I might have been a problem for the garbage men yesterday morning.”

“Alex,” Beatrice groaned ruefully. “I believe we’ve already had the ‘self-preservation is the better part of valor, and grim humor doesn’t change that’ conversation.” Alex ducked his head, somewhat chastised.

“Sorry, Bea.” Crap, he suddenly thought. He hoped this wouldn’t make the Washingtons think less of him. In just the time they’d been talking, he’d felt his interest in their opinion of him rising. 

But when he dared a glance up, they only appeared thoughtful, not disappointed.

There might still be hope.

They carried on in that vein, trading conversation about interests, past-times, even edging into political thoughts, as the sun slowly made its way across the sky out the window. As the words flowed between them, Alex became less nervous and more relaxed, feeling the knot of tension that had been in his gut that morning disappear.

Finally, after a few rounds of beverages and bakery goods, Beatrice slide her cup to the side, leaning forward and folding her hands on the table.

“I think it’s time we get to the heart of the matter,” she said seriously. “You three seem to get along quite well. Mr. and Mrs. Washington, am I to understand that you are still interested in fostering Alexander?” 

He’d barely had the chance to hold his breath, before –

“Yes!” George jumped in loudly. He then paused a moment, realizing he’d only spoken for himself, before looking beside him to Martha a tad sheepishly and uncertainly.

But she only smiled at him, with what looked like a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

“Now more than ever,” she confirmed. Alex let out his breath. Beatrice smiled, turning to him.

“Well, Alex? You don’t have to make a decision right now, but what are your thoughts?”

He blinked.

He honestly hadn’t expected to get this far; it was bizarre to think he was faced with a moment that could change the trajectory of his life… a moment that was his choice, for once.

He wrapped his hands around his now empty cup, thinking hard. He knew no one could ever replace Mom. But then… maybe the Washingtons wouldn’t try to. He felt more comfortable with them than with any family he’d spoken to. And hell, they were still interested in him, which was a change.

And he knew this was just the tip of the iceberg. There would be things he’d still have to learn about them and they way they worked as a family, and things that… that they still didn’t know about him. Things that were bound to rear their heads eventually, and who knew how they’d react then?

But… they’d already saved him once. They’d faced off with three drunks for him without question, and they came back for him. That had to count for something.

He took a deep breath.

“Can we get the paperwork started?”

The blinding smiles across from him gave an encouraging answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed, and feedback welcome! I'm particularly keen to see if anyone has theories on the direction I'm taking George and Martha's characterizations in, George particularly.


	3. March III - Journey's Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex begins his journey into a new chapter of life.

Being so close to the end of the school year, plus the fact that Mount Vernon was very much not his same school district, put Alex in a bit of a difficult position. No sane person would start a new school in March. However, Beatrice correctly surmised that he didn’t want to wait two and a half months to leave the group home, so she was playing phone tag with the schools’ administrators to see what could be done in regards to possible distance learning to finish the year.

There were also the matters of Martha and George having to return to their jobs on Monday, and still needing their home inspection before he could move in with them. He was disappointed to see them leave, but bolstered by their promise to return as soon as they’d passed the inspection and gotten his school issue straightened out. They’d also made sure to ask whether or not he was up to date on his immunizations (he was), and if he had any allergies they’d need to know about (not that he knew of). He was comforted by the thought they put into the process. 

He couldn’t say for sure how he felt about leaving Richmond for a smaller, quieter town – one that was a hop, skip, and jump from D.C., no less. Sure, he appreciated that Richmond had a sizeable amount of educational and cultural opportunities, but it never quite felt right. It didn’t feel like a person could make a big enough difference there (from his admittedly limited perspective). Plus, he was pretty sure that he’d witnessed at least three drug deals in the park in broad daylight. Whatever.

He knew deep down, though, that no place would have felt like home. Not since… well. Not since Mom, and the-

No. He pushed the thought away before it could take hold.

So, no place would have felt like home; it wasn’t strictly Richmond’s fault. Especially when living with a bunch of other kids hoping someone would offer them a place in a family… however short-lived it might be.

But he had been offered a place in a family. A small one, but still. Would being included finally feel like having a home again? 

He didn’t have an answer -- not yet. He’d have to wait.

****************************************************************

George and Martha returned to Richmond the following Saturday. When they’ll pulled into the home’s small parking lot, Alex was outside ready for them, Beatrice at his side.

“This is it,” she said to him quietly. “You ready?” He nodded quickly.

“Yeah. Totally. Why wouldn’t I be?” Conveniently omitting his returning nerves, how he suddenly noticed again how huge George was as he got out of the car, and that he was remembering how much distance Virginia covered North to South, which the distance from Richmond to Mount Vernon occupied most of.

Beatrice saw straight through him. “You have my number. You can always call if something goes wrong, remember that.” She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “That being said, I’ve got a good feeling about these guys.”

Alex saw Martha and George’s identical smiles as they approached, and let out a breath.

“Yeah, me too.”

Beatrice offered a friendly handshake to both Washingtons, which they accepted, George after a tiny moment’s hesitation. Bea didn’t seem to mind. They exchanged pleasantries, before they turned to Alex.

“Well Alex, we’re back as promised,” Martha said.

“So I see,” Alex replied, allowing a hint of challenge to his smile. “I guess I didn’t scare you guys off.” She considered him a moment.

“As if,” she replied, affecting a ridiculous Valley girl accent. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’d have to work a lot harder than that to scare us off, Alex,” George added, giving him slightly awkward finger-guns. Weirdly, it put the teen more at ease.

George helped Alex put his quite limited luggage into the trunk of their hatchback. Closing the trunk door, Alex saw, out of the corner of his eye, George reach out a moment as if to put a hand on his shoulder, before pausing and drawing it back. Alex was confused for a moment, but decided he appreciated the caution on George’s part. Thus far, the men in his life hadn’t given him much reason to appreciate physical contact – up to and including those three drunk assholes from that night. 

He pushed those thoughts out of his mind. 

While he’d been thinking, Martha and George had signed the document Beatrice presented them, officially taking Alex into their care. His heart started beating a bit faster as they turned to him.

“So, Alex… ready to hit the road, my dude?” Martha asked. He barked out a laugh.

“Yeah, I think I am.” And despite his persistent nerves, he meant it.

He and the Washington’s said their goodbyes to Beatrice, and as he paused and looked back over his shoulder, she gave him the silent “call me” gesture in reminder, followed by a cheerful thumbs-up. He nodded, and with a deep breath, stepped into the back seat of the car and closed the door.

******************************************************************

Alex remained quiet as they began their journey out of Richmond; remembering Martha’s words about driving on the highway versus in the city, he didn’t want to disrupt the navigation process, as the two adults murmured to each other. The quiet was occasionally punctuated by Martha cussing out another driver, but even that she tried to keep subdued, her eyes darting to him for a moment in the rear-view mirror. Alex found himself comforted when she would occasionally slip in and out of Spanish at those times.

Once they’d begun to leave the densest traffic of the city behind, she called back to him.

“We’ll stop somewhere before we hit the highway, Alex,” she said. “I need to stretch my legs, George and I need to take a pit stop, and no road trip is complete without some snacks.”

Though not very familiar with road trips, Alex found himself agreeing.

“Also, fair warning: I’m an avid driving vocalist,” she said. “Just give me a holler if it bugs you. Or feel free to join in if you want.”

That was how he later found himself smothering his laughter in the back seat, when Martha was enthusiastically singing along to a wide range of music from the car stereo – everything from the sixties and seventies rock and disco, to the nineties pop, to movie and theater music, to current radio fare. George often joined in, between reading instruction off the gps. Alex smiled, watching the Virginia scenery pass through the window, occasionally adding his voice or offering a suggestion for the next song.

When they reached Mount Vernon, it hadn’t seemed like much time had passed at all.

As they were just entering that fuzzy middle area between suburbs and countryside, Martha turned onto a driveway that was more of a short lane, cutting through a cluster of oak trees and dense bushes. On the other side was a meadow-like yard in front of a medium-sized farm house that looked somewhat renovated. Pulling up to the garage door, Martha finally cut the engine, and the trio unbuckled and exited the car, all groaning from the movement. George helped Alex with his belongings again, and they made their way into the house.

“Here we are,” George said as he opened the door. Alex’s first impression was an incredible sense of calm: colorful without being overwhelming, cozy without being stifling, with a number of potted plants, puffy chairs, and woven wall tapestries to soften hard corners. 

“What do you think?” the man asked; Alex thought he could detect a note of trepidation in his voice.

“I think it’s wonderful,” he replied honestly. George beamed. As the teen turned around to look at his surroundings again, he thought he saw the adults exchange a high five in his periphery vision.

“Well Alex, what do you want to do first? We can show you your room and drop your stuff off, or we can whip up some dinner, or whatever makes you comfortable,” Martha said. He thought a moment.

“Could I drop my stuff off please?” His stomach chose that moment to growl. Alex looked down at his shoes while the Washingtons gave short, good-natured laughs.

“We have a tie. Tell you what, I’ll show you your room,” Martha began.

“-And I’ll heat up some dinner so it’s ready when you come back down,” George finished. “How does chicken and rice sound?”

“Great!”

“Awesome.” And with that, Alex and Martha began the climb up the stairs. At the top, Martha, carrying Alex’s small suitcase, turned right.

“You’re just on the other side of the bathroom from us,” she explained. “It’s a bit plain right now, but we can work together and make it feel personal in no time.” She opened the door to reveal a stucco-yellow room, including a full-size bed with a woven patterned blanket on top, a desk and nightstand, an empty bookshelf and open closet. Alex walked in slowly, looking around, before quietly setting his backpack on the bed.

“Like I said, it’s kind of lame now,” Martha continued awkwardly, tapping her steepled fingers together, “but-“

“It’s great,” Alex said, pretending his eyes weren’t getting wet. “Thank you.”

He knew Martha could tell he meant it.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied quietly. “Uh, I’ll give you a bit to settle in. Come down when you’re ready.” And she backed out of the room, closing the door most of the way behind her.

Alex took a deep breath of his new room, letting it out slowly. A new place, that could just possibly become home.

*****************************************************

Dinner was the aforementioned chicken and rice, with broccoli mixed in and added cheese optional. In the middle of the wooden table they all sat at was a small basket of seasoning containers, so everyone could make their food as spicy or mild as they wished, which Alex appreciated. They chatted cheerfully, trading their favorite food and recipes growing up. He found that talking about that tiny little portion of his past wasn’t nearly so uncomfortable.

When dinner was finished and the dishes cleared away, and everyone situated with a celebratory hot chocolate (as winter was still stubbornly clinging on in northern Virginia), Martha gave an exaggerated sigh, leaning back against the kitchen counter with her mug.

“Well, now that we’re all approaching food coma, I guess we should probably get the boring logistical conversation out of the way.” Alex tilted his head.

“Logistical?”

“Just some house rules to keep everything going smoothly,” George clarified.

“Oh,” the teen replied, wondering if this was where they’d be strict. “Alright, let’s have it.” The older man nodded.

“Okay, well, we think nine is a good curfew for school nights, unless you end up with a weirdly late extracurricular come fall. We know high school gets more complicated. Um, no loud media after ten on week nights or like midnight on weekends. You should really probably be in bed by then anyway. I’d say you’re old enough that nothing in the kitchen should be off-limits. There’s some power tools in the basement, please don’t mess with those without one of us supervising. Lost fingers are no fun for anyone. Let’s see, what else… There’s a house computer you can use for school and such until we can get you a laptop; rules for that are common sense stuff. Don’t make any orders or purchases online without asking us, please.”

Alex nodded. So far everything seemed perfectly reasonable.

“Oh, and kindly refrain from using the computer to look at porn,” Martha added casually, while Alex choked and sputtered on his cocoa. “Some of those sites can spread nasty viruses, and most of the industry itself is really abusive to its employ- whoah, you ok?”

Alex was still coughing. Rather than pat him roughly on the back, as one might have expected, George placed his hands on top of his own head, sitting straighter and indicating Alex should mimic him. The teen did so, and to his surprise only had to cough twice more before he could stop. George answered his unspoken question.

“Straightens your airway out so it’s easier to clear.”

“Oh.” They both relaxed again, the younger going beet red as he remembered what caused his coughing fit. “You- uh, you don’t have to worry about that. Really. I’m not… not really into, um, that stuff yet.”

Martha’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Huh. Groovy. Well, if you do find yourself getting interested in ‘that stuff,’ be sure to let one of us know so we can give you the safe sex-and-consent talk.”

“That’s really not necessary!” he protested weakly, ducking his head as his face flushed again. 

“I’m afraid it very much is, Alex,” George said, with a note of sympathy to his voice. “It’s one of our solemn duties of guardianship, giving the safe sex/consent talk. But we don’t have to have it right now, so rest easy.”

Alex just put his face in his hands, sighing to himself. Is this what regular parents did, he wondered?

He shook his head, lowering his hands. “Okay. Is there anything else I need to know?”

Martha rested her chin on the rim of her mug. “Hm. Don’t fart around with our files and boring-stuff records, I suppose – we have a hard-enough time keeping our combined paperwork straight as it is. George and I share the household chores, so we’ll work out your place in that system: nothing too heinous, I promise. If you use the last of something, be it a food item or a toiletry, just write it down on the list.” She pointed to a notepad secured to the fridge with a magnet. “Oh, and if you’re too hot or cold, just let us know and we’ll adjust the thermostat, please and thank you. Those utility providers are asses. I’d say we should consider adding solar panels if they wouldn’t get covered in snow a third of the year…

“And the biggest thing…” She put her mug down on the counter to give him her full attention.

“Do not hesitate to come to us if you need anything, or have any questions, or have weird feelings you don’t know what to do with, or anything at all. I can’t promise we’ll always have an answer or solution, but we’ll always try to help you get one.”

Alex looked down at his hands for a moment.

“I bet a lot of people say that,” he said quietly.

George turned in his seat to face Alex more directly, leaning down onto the table so they were closer to face-to-face. He still didn’t reach out to touch him though, Alex realized – and couldn’t help but be grateful for.

“I know from personal experience that they do,” the older man said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Martha and I will try our very best to prove it true. Neither of us are the best when it comes to subtlety, so you may have to be more up-front than you think. And I know that might be hard, coming from where you’ve been. It might take time for us to learn how to meet your needs, both materially and emotionally. But we will always try our best to do right by you.”

Alex let that sink in, distantly embarrassed that he was tearing up a second time in the same number of hours.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Thank you. I’ll remember that. And I- I’ll try too. To meet you in the middle, I mean. I…” the next part was barely audible.

“I want us to work out.”

“So do we, Alex,” Martha assured seriously.

“More than anything,” George said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here endeth most of the pre-planned scenes, so updates may unfortunately be slower. As always, feedback is appreciated!


	4. March IV - Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex begins the process of settling in with the Washintons, and learns some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter and I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but I wanted to get it out.

When Alex woke up the next day, not immediately recognizing the bed or the room he was in through the haze of sleep, he felt a brief rush of panic. He sat up quickly, black spots appearing in his vision a moment before fading. Breathing rapidly, he took stock of his surroundings: the patterned blanket over his legs, the yellow of the walls, the bookshelf waiting to be filled…

And he remembered.

George and Martha. They’d gone back for him, and brought him with them to their home in Mount Vernon. To foster him.

Slowly, he got his breathing and heartbeat back under control. From everything he’d seen so far, and from what he was now remembering of the conversation last night… He was safe.

After leaving his room and using the bathroom, he slowly, quietly padded down the stairs, not wanting to disturb the adults if they were still asleep. But as he neared the bottom, he realized that wasn’t the case.

Soft music was floating his way, an old Elton John song if he wasn’t mistaken. As he peeked around the corner, he saw the cause for it.

George and Martha were in an open space in the middle of the living room. Both were wearing flannel sleep pants and soft-looking t-shirts, and they had their arms wrapped tightly around each other, swaying slowly side to side. Martha’s head was resting on George’s broad chest, and his cheek was resting on the top of her head.

Suddenly he had to swallow past a lump forming in his throat, and he felt guilty. He was intruding on a private moment… probably just intruding in general, he thought ruefully.

But as he was about to turn and creep back up the stairs, the pair rotated enough that he was in Martha’s line of vision. But rather than pulling away or frowning, she just gave a small smile, and lifted a hand from her husband’s back to give a lazy ‘come here’ gesture. 

Hesitantly, he stepped around the corner, while the song was drawing to a close. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said quietly.

“Good morning, Alex,” George said, releasing Martha. “Don’t worry, you didn’t.”

“And even if you did, that would be ok,” she added. “You’re part of the team now.”

“Oh.” 

Team. Alex liked it being put that way. It made it feel less like he was betraying someone, by being here.

They stood quietly a moment, before George spoke, rubbing his hands together.

“Who’s ready for breakfast?”

**************************************************

After morning sustenance was seen to, the next order of business was raised. 

“So, Alex, what kind of stuff do you think might want to get today? Anything to make your room less blank, any clothes items you’re missing…”

“You really don’t have to, I’m set,” he tried to protest, but she continued with a sly grin.

“-Any books you’re itching to read…”

Damn. That was playing dirty; he really couldn’t turn down books.

“Well… I mean, if we have to go out anyway,” he mumbled. She chuckled.

“That’s what I thought. If it makes you feel any better, George and I are pretty thrifty on our own, so we know where to find all the best bargains in town.”

“Oh. Yeah, that does make me feel a bit better.” 

So she had him take a brief inventory of his belongings when he went upstairs to change and get washed up (“Make a list. We like lists in this house, heh. We have to make a lot because half will end up lost in the laundry.”). When he returned to the kitchen, both she and George were dressed and finishing their coffee.

“Ready? Onward!”

Thus the trio began their excursion. The Washingtons insisted on getting him a sturdy pair of waterproof boots (“trust me, in another week or so this area will become pretty much one massive mud hole”), as well as a new pair of sneakers, as his were wearing thin and getting uncomfortably small. That done, they moved on to clothes, filling in the basics that that Alex was low on. George in particular made sure they included some warm sweaters and thick socks. Following a quick lunch at a diner, they concluded their outing with a local discount bookstore that also sold writing and office supplies (“An academic’s candy store,” George said, which Alex whole-heartedly agreed with). They left with an armful of books, fresh notebooks and pens for school and leisure, a wall calendar, and a world map poster. They skipped electronics for the time being; Alex was perfectly happy using a slightly older phone Martha had kept when she last upgraded. 

Though they remained cheerful, Alex noticed that as the day went on all three of them became more subdued and tired, and navigating the Sunday shopping crowds became more difficult. The reason for this soon became apparent.

“Damn, can’t believe I forgot it was St. Patrick’s Day,” Martha muttered as they’d left the clothing store.

“Oh? I didn’t realize you were Catholic,” Alex replied.

“I’m not,” she said. “And most of the people around here aren’t either. It’s just another cheaply-capitalized holiday that will give the local morons an excuse to get drunk and obnoxious.”

Her words turned out to be disappointingly accurate. The bookstore was situated on a long street with limited parking, so they had something of a walk to get back to the car afterward. That same street also contained a bar, a grill, and a dance club, each spilling intense noise and raucous patrons onto the sidewalk, even though it was early in the evening.

The Washingtons were obviously both remembering the night they met Alex as clearly as he was, as Martha put a tentative arm around his shoulders and George made sure to keep himself between Alex and the establishments. The teen couldn’t help but feel touched. 

He couldn’t help but notice something, though. As they were passing through the same chaotic portion of the avenue, both George and Martha flinched at the worst spikes of noise, and they both grew visibly tense; Alex felt his own shoulders tightening as well. As they passed the club, pulsing bright lights from inside made George close his eyes tightly, and every time he brushed shoulders with or was bumped into by an intoxicated pedestrian, he seemed almost pained. Alex could hear the man’s breathing getting shorter and more forced, but still he shielded the teen.

When they finally reached the car and deposited their purchases in the trunk, everyone let out a deep breath nearly in unison after they were inside and buckled. They all sat quietly for a few moments, before Martha turned to look at George. She didn’t reach out to touch him, though. They seemed to communicate silently, until George gave a kind of ‘go on’ gesture, and Martha reluctantly started the engine.

The radio remained off for the drive back to the farmhouse, and no one sang. But the noise had followed them; not only could some revelry be heard inside the car even with the windows closed, but the music from other cars was loud enough to easily reach them as well.

In the light of passing street lamps, Alex could see George’s hands opening and closing into fists on his knees.

When they finally went down the lane through the trees and reached the house, George was the first to open his door, and Martha was quick to follow. 

“I’m gonna unlock the door first, Alex, and then I’ll be back to help you with your things.” He nodded, befuddled and slightly worried.

She did as she said, returning to the car after George disappeared into the house. She and Alex collected the purchases before locking the car and heading inside. She removed her shoes and deposited the bags she carried on the kitchen table; Alex followed suit. 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, before quietly climbing the stairs. Unsure what to do, Alex went into the living room and sat down to wait, hands fidgeting nervously. In the quiet, the ticking of the seconds hand of the mantle clock seemed unnaturally loud.

He heard footsteps on the stairs, and turned in his seat as Martha came around the corner.

“Is he okay?” Alex asked. She gave a small smile.

“He will be. Soon enough.” He didn’t know what to make of that. Seeing his confusion, Martha sat down beside him on the sofa. She let out a deep breath, before turning to face him.

“A word of advice, Alex. When we reach the time that you’re at the end of high school and it’s time to decide your next steps, if you find yourself suspecting that you might have attention deficit difficulties or are on the autism spectrum and we somehow don’t know about it, I personally advise against joining the military. I mean, unless you really, really want to and are prepared to struggle more than normal. Three out of ten, would not recommend.”

Alex blinked, taken aback. That was a lot to unpack at once. Was she… implying that she or George fell under those categories? Or maybe both of them? Thinking back, he remembered Martha’s little conversational detours and comments about struggling with staying organized, how George was almost always moving his hands in some way, how he seemed hesitant to touch anyone but Martha, how they both flinched at sudden noises. 

A bunch of little things were starting to make sense.

But oddly, what stood out the most in his mind were her opening words: “when we reach the time.” Not “if we reach the time,” or “when you reach the time.” When, and we. 

Like she was thinking that far ahead, and in that imagined future years away, he was still with them.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo... yeah. That was something I felt the need to do. Feedback appreciated as always.


	5. March V - New Routines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-St. Patty's conversations, part 1.

The next morning when Alex got up, Martha was already downstairs and dressed for work, sitting with her coffee at the table.

“G’morning. Did you sleep well?” she asked when she saw him.

“Yeah, thank you… Um, is there any more of that?” he asked, gesturing to her mug. She gave him an unimpressed look.

“Yes, and you can have one cup and no more. ‘Cause I’d be a lousy guardian indeed if I let you get as addicted to caffeine as I am while you’re still growing.”

He smiled. “Noted.” 

Having already been shown where everything was kept in the kitchen, he felt relatively secure helping himself to some cereal. When he’d prepared a bowl and was situated at the table with his food and coffee, he voiced what he’d first noticed.

“Where’s George?” It felt a bit odd to call the Washingtons by their given names out loud, but they’d insisted he could.

“He’s still asleep. His class today isn’t until the afternoon. So he takes the car Mondays, and I go in on my bike. The other days he teaches we carpool.”

Alex gaped. “You have a motorcycle?” Martha smirked a bit.

“Sure do. But we have to get you a helmet that fits before you can ride with me.” 

He let out an impressed breath. “Cool.”

She then put her mug down to look at him directly, suddenly serious.

“Do you have any questions or thoughts about last night?”

He sat up straighter, somewhat taken aback. But then, he realized he shouldn’t be surprised by the forwardness of the question: hadn’t George said that neither of them were all that subtle? 

“I don’t know,” he replied quietly. Seeing her guarded expression, he rushed to clarify.

“I mean, there’s a lot of information out there. I, er, looked up the stuff you talked about last night. You know, on the phone you gave me.” She nodded, her expression shifting.

“Ah. Well I imagine, with you being one of the young and savvy folk, you know as well if not better than I do to take what you read online with a grain of salt.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, they actually teach us in school how to separate the legitimate sources from the sketchy ones for research projects -- at least the basics.”

“Thank goodness for that,” she replied wryly. But then she grew somber again, looking down at her mug. “Do you think it makes either of us less fit to take care of you?” Her voice was low, and he could tell his response was important to her. He made himself wait and consider it seriously for a moment; the vulnerable openness of the question deserved nothing less.

“I… haven’t seen anything to suggest it would,” he eventually replied. “I honestly didn’t know that much about either of the things you mentioned before last night; there’s still lots I don’t know now. I mean, I know I’ve been here less than two whole days, but… Well, you guys both passed your background checks fine, and you’ve made it in demanding, prestigious jobs, and you got me here in one piece, right? You immediately made sure I had what I need. All that doesn’t sound like a pair of people who couldn’t handle one kid – especially one who’s got functioning hand-eye coordination, understands basic action-consequence and stranger-danger, and has a solid grasp on language to just tell you when something’s wrong… in theory, anyway,” he concluded with a small bit of self-deprecation.

Her relieved exhale told him he’d said the right things.

“I’m glad to hear that. Thank you.” She sat in contemplation for a minute, before giving a small shake, checking her watch and draining the remainder of her coffee.

“Whew. Not that I don’t want to continue our heart-to-heart, but I should probably get moving. You’re okay to start your school work on the computer?” The school had agreed to let Alex finish the year through distance-learning; his teachers would email him lecture notes, quizzes and homework, and let him take his textbooks with him to Mount Vernon, with the stipulation that the Washingtons would mail them back at the end of the year. George had let him make himself an account on the shared computer the night he arrived. The bigger tests he’d have to take with a proctor at a local school.

“Yep, I’m good to go.” Martha nodded, before pausing a moment.

“I, uh, I imagine George would also be willing to talk or answer any questions you have. Maybe not this morning, but sometime. If you want.”

Alex paused. “Right. Yeah… Yeah, I think I might.” Here she gave him a serious look.

“All I expect is that you treat him with dignity and basic respect when you talk to him.” It was the first time she’d used a firm tone with him.

A part of Alex had half a mind to be insulted. He knew he could get defensive, but he certainly wouldn’t consider himself a jerk. But after a moment, he could understand where she was coming from – he’d had to put up with his share of invasive or even rude questions about his past from other kids, after all. Some adults too, come to think of it.

“I was going to anyway,” he assured. She smiled.

“You’re a good kid, Alex.”

That threw the teen off a moment. A part of him suddenly wanted to ask how she could possibly know that – they hadn’t known him any longer than he’d known them, after all. How could she know that he was a good kid?

(At least one person hadn’t thought so-)

He shoved the thought down. No, he wouldn’t bring it up, not now. She had to get to work; he didn’t want to hold her up. And if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to expose that nerve yet.

Martha rinsed her mug in the sink and set it aside, before coming to stand at his side.

“Pound it,” she said, raising her hand for a fist bump. He gave a short laugh, before accepting it. “Have a good day, bud.”

“You too,” he replied, and she gave a casual salute before retrieving her bag and jacket, and leaving through the kitchen door to the garage.

Finishing his cereal and coffee, Alex washed his dishes and left them to dry in the drainer before going up to his room to change. Gathering his school materials, he returned downstairs to the table and got started. After about an hour, he heard footsteps followed by the shower turning on upstairs. He paused his assigned reading.

He considered, suddenly, whether he should make some food for when George came down. He remembered that after the—after The Event, as he’d taken to calling it in his mind, he’d been so exhausted for days, on every level, that even after he’d reached the emergency assistance shelter he could barely muster the energy to stand in line for food and medical treatment. Obviously, they were two entirely different events, but he wondered if George’s sensory overload (as the internet called it) incidents caused similar levels of fatigue. 

On the other hand, he didn’t want George to think that he now saw the man as helpless. He knew he wasn’t; he’d helped save Alex’s ass for crying out loud. He didn’t want to insult the man. 

After a few minutes, his internal debate was interrupted by a growling in his stomach. He looked down at himself, annoyed. Curse his hyperactive teenage metabolism. 

Well, at least that made the decision easier. He’d just make enough for both of them in case his first theory proved to be accurate. If he was wrong then there’d be leftovers, no harm no foul (hopefully). With that in mind he stood from the table and retrieved eggs, bacon and bread from the fridge.

When George later came downstairs, hair damp and dressed, he looked oddly relieved to see Alex at the table.

“Hi. Good morning,” the teen greeted.

“Good morning, Alex.” His voice was somewhat subdued, and he seemed to be working himself up to something.

“Martha didn’t leave me any messages. I’m hoping that means you haven’t called Beatrice and told her you want to go somewhere else.”

Alex stared, dumbstruck.

“Why the he—heck would I do that?” He paused, suddenly unsure. “I mean… were you wanting me to?”

“No!” George’s reply was louder than he probably intended. He shook his head, taking a deep breath. “You’d be surprised,” he muttered. “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

Alex didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. Thankfully, George then noticed the pan on the stove, the bacon and eggs inside still warm.

“You made breakfast?”

“Um, I was actually up pretty early, so it’s more of an early lunch for me. There’s plenty,” Alex added, hoping he wasn’t being too obvious. George smiled.

“Thank you, Alex,” he said, retrieving a plate and utensils. Rather than going for the remaining coffee, he simply filled a glass with water. They ate in silence for a few minutes, before George looked up.

“I do truly appreciate it, Alex,” he began, “but we didn’t offer to be your foster parents so you could take care of us. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”

Damn. Alex guessed he hadn’t been that subtle.

“I know,” he insisted. He almost fully believed it. “I just… I know that I’ve gotten really, really tired after- after something big happens, and… I don’t know. Call it a gesture of empathy, I guess. I kind of suck at talking about feelings and experiences, just so you know,” he added, with a strange rush of recklessness.

Inexplicably, George smiled.

“I understand. Been there.”

Alex couldn’t help but wonder how similar their experiences actually were.

George had finished his food and was tapping his fingertips on the table contemplatively. “I see you’ve got your school work.”

“Yeah, I’ll log in this afternoon to get the assignment,” Alex replied. George frowned.

“You know, I know it’s only until the school year is over, and our work schedules can’t really be adjusted much, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to be home by yourself so much of the week.” Alex couldn’t help but tense up at that.

“I can keep myself out of trouble,” he insisted. “I mean, unless there’s a bunch of racist drunks around, and that won’t be a problem in here.”

“I know you can,” George reassured. “What I meant is, I don’t know if it’s healthy. We wouldn’t want you to feel isolated.” 

Alex blinked. “Oh.” After so long living with a bunch of other kids, he hadn’t really considered that.

Across the table, George was clearly thinking.

“Hm. We couldn’t do it today because I’d need to get permission from the board, but how would you feel about coming to the college with me some days? You could bring your reading to do while I teach, or even sit in on a lecture if you want. We could have lunches together, then you could do the assignments at home in the evening like you would during a regular year. What do you think?”

Alex blinked, trying to take that in. It was strange. The proposal made great sense from a practical perspective. He didn’t understand why, but he felt a reluctance to accept it.

“Yeah. Sure. Maybe,” he replied non-committedly. 

He told himself he didn’t see a brief tint of disappointment in George’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one went a bit more serious, and will be starting a similar trend. Don't worry, the levity won't disappear completely. As always, feedback appreciated.


	6. Late March I - A Little Travelling Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations Pt. 2, now with commutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a shorty, but I wanted to keep up some posting momentum. I might add more to this chapter later, so keep an eye out.

It took Alex less than a week to regret his ambivalence. 

He was going stir crazy. He was used to waking up early enough to go to normal school, so sleeping in didn’t come naturally. He was finishing his daily reading and study requirements with plenty of time to spare, and getting the assignments done easily, and he needed to pace himself on the books the Washingtons bought him. He supposed he could spend more time on the computer, but he didn’t know how they would feel about that. And they hadn’t specifically told him not to leave the house, but he inferred that he wasn’t meant to go past the yard when they weren’t home. And there wasn’t much to do in the yard. He’d move over the course of the day from his desk in his room, to the kitchen table, to the living room floor and back to the kitchen, becoming gradually more agitated and antsy over the course of the week.

He’d never thought that he would have a problem being alone most of the day; hadn’t he often gone to the park or to the library after school in Richmond for some time to himself? So what the hell was this about?

It wasn’t until he was emailing his English teacher a piece of writing homework late Thursday afternoon that he got a flash of a theory. Even if he hadn’t gotten along with some of his classmates in Richmond, and even if he wasn’t particularly close to any of them, at least they’d been there. Annoying at times, yes, but present as part of a (mostly unwilling) education community. They’d provided collaboration and competition. Now it was just him and his overworked teachers, communicating in simple messages over the vast distance of the internet. It was cold and stifling. And unless he started letting himself randomly leap-frog through Wikipedia in his leftover time, he’d start bouncing off the walls.

Whatever the hell had made him wishy-washy on accepting George’s offer to go to the college, it wasn’t worth it. Seriously. It was a college, a place he’d been dreaming of going to since he started middle school. (Eh, different context he knew, but semantics.)

That just left the matter of raising the subject with George. Alex knew he didn’t have class on Fridays, so in theory that would be the perfect time to ask. He only hoped the man wouldn’t be too in his face with the inevitable “told you so” moment.  
He wanted to get any potential awkwardness out of the way as soon as possible, so he decided on breakfast the next day after Martha left.

He forced himself not to clear his throat like a pretentious weirdo. “Um, George?”

He looked up from his plate. “Yes?”

“I, uh, I was just wondering. Is the offer to come with you to the university still open?”

After blinking a few times, a small smile appeared on the man’s face.

“Cabin fever?” Alex ducked his head – trying to hide his twitch at the second word.

“Yeah. Wasn’t expecting that. Back in Richmond I would look forward to time on my own.” George nodded.

“That’s very understandable. And the offer is absolutely still open. I hope you don’t think it presumptuous, but I did go ahead and get permission. You can come with me any day next week. As often as you like, if it doesn’t impact your school work.”

That was how he found himself in the front passenger seat the following Monday. It turned out that while the Washingtons lived near the edge of Virginia, they actually both worked across the Potomac river in Maryland, George at the actual University of Maryland. George warned him that the commute was around a half hour one way, if the traffic was very good.

“I always give myself plenty of extra time to get there,” he said, hands firmly planted at the ‘ten and two’ positions. As he drove away from town and carefully merged onto the highway, Alex noticed something different about how George drove compared to Martha. The stereo was kept at a low volume, and he didn’t sing along. He also seemed less at ease than Martha had been – where she had been alert but relaxed and smooth, George’s driving was much more noticeably cautious. His eyes moved in a methodical pattern, from the road ahead, to his side mirror, to the one on Alex’s side. Like he was deliberately, consciously thinking about everything he was doing. Which, Alex realized, he probably was.

“Does it make driving harder?” he blurted out, but quietly. “I mean, your…”

“My autistic traits?” George finished. “You can say it, it’s okay.” He was quiet for a moment. “To answer your question, not really any more. They used to, but I’ve gotten used to it over the years. I’ll never enjoy driving the way Martha does, but I manage. Both of our insurance rates are still pretty low, if that puts you at ease. Why do you ask?”

Alex didn’t really understand what that meant, but didn’t say so. “I don’t know. You just seemed kind of… tense. Which is fine, I mean. I’m sure I wouldn’t want to drive in this area…” he trailed off, uncertain if he’d overstepped.

George was silent for several moments. When he did respond, his voice was noticeably measured and even.

“I suppose a certain amount of that is normal for me. Driving in a busy area does take a lot of concentration. But I admit I’m being more careful than normal today. That probably does translate to some tension.”

“Why today?” Alex asked.

“Because I’m driving with you in the car,” George replied quietly, still looking straight ahead.

Alex, more than a little stunned, said nothing the rest of the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same business as usual :)
> 
> Also now starts when I'm really interested if anyone has feedback on how accurately I'm handling G's Autism spectrum material.


	7. Late March II - Weekdays at the College with George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin

Alex was drawn out of his contemplative mood as they reached the campus. He looked out the window, taking in the broad grounds and red brick buildings with their white columns. It was certainly more educational buildings than he’d ever seen in one place before. With the various branching roads and similar facades, he wondered how people didn’t get lost.

“How big is this school?” he asked.

“Well, technically it’s a system of multiple schools,” George replied, pulling into a faculty parking lot. “And it’s the largest public university in the D.C. area,” he added, backing into a spot and shutting the car off. They gathered their things, left the car and set off on foot.

“When we have more time, I’ll show you the library. You can’t check books out on your own since you don’t have a student ID, but I could check out some for you if you like.”

“Really? Awesome!” Alex replied. He not only appreciated the offer, but he couldn’t help but feel proud that George seemed to think he would be fine with college-level library materials.

“Yes, really,” George said with a smile.

********************************************

Having gotten his school studying out of the way that morning, Alex elected to sit in on George’s lecture. This class was on recent American history (1945 to the present, George told him when he asked). The lecture of the day was focused on the Korean War, and from his seat in the back of the classroom Alex listened attentively and watched. George rarely stayed still while he taught; he often paced behind the podium, and when he did stand stationary he continued to move his hands and gesture passionately. He asked the students questions and tasked them with critical thinking activities.

By the end of the hour and fifteen minutes, Alex was left with an elevated respect for George, and a lot of questions about America’s interventionist foreign policies. As George reminded the students of an assignment due online by the next class and they gathered their belongings and began to file out, one student who’d sat near Alex casually approached the podium.

“What’s up with the kid, Professor?”

“That’s Alex, my foster son,” George replied with a distinct note of pride.

Alex stiffened.

Foster son. Son. 

It was strange. In all the discussions between him, Beatrice and the Washingtons, and the time he’d spent with them in their home and the effort they’d put in to make him feel comfortable, he’d still really not thought about their respective roles in that way. 

Which didn’t make sense. Hadn’t Martha made it clear that they expected Alex to be with them long term? Was it really such a hard concept to wrap his head around?

But then, he thought, why should he accept it so soon? So easily? He’d only lived with them for a week, for god’s sake. And he’d never even gotten that far with any other family he’d been introduced to. Could he really be blamed for doubting any concept of permanence in this situation? And how could he accept any pseudo-familial labels without any guarantee of permanence?

He’d had family once. And all of that had already been cut short, leaving him reeling, damaged, and unprepared for the bigger and harsher world.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“How did you like it?” George asked eagerly as Alex approached.

“It was great,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I learned a lot.”

If George noticed how quiet and withdrawn he was on the return trip, he didn’t comment, instead keeping his attention on the road.

*****************************************

Alex had to hand it to the man, but George made it hard for him to keep up his emotional distance. He showed him the university library as promised, and seemed to delight in his irrepressible excitement. Whenever Alex had a question about his own schoolwork, George would pull away from his grading or lesson plans to help out (which Alex realized actually meant quiet a lot – George seemed rather fond of routine). He exuded a passion and authority in his lessons that made students want to sit up and pay attention.

And, Alex realized, once you spent enough time around him, he was surprisingly fun.

They were eating their packed lunches at an outdoor table one afternoon, as it was an early warm day, and one of the students nearby was playing music on their phone. The song had a strong underlying drum rhythm.

Without preamble or seemingly much conscious thought, George had closed his eyes and started air-drumming with his knife and fork. Bobbing his head to the music, he used alternating beats for each hand, one utensil held in an over hand grip and the other in an underhand one.

“You’re really good at that,” Alex noted. "You make it look real.”

“I should hope so,” George replied with a short chuckle. “I was in the drum line in the West Point marching band.”

“You’re kidding.” 

“Nope, and don’t ask how I managed that, because I still don’t know. I went to the Army academy and remained a huge nerd,” George said with a shrug.

Alex couldn’t quite hide his amusement. 

It didn’t always go like that though. A few days later at dinner, George threw Alex for a loop.

“How do you feel about fishing, Alex?” 

The teen blinked, pausing cutting his food. “I’ve never been.” George seemed surprised.

“Oh. I was wondering, because every year in June my brother, our father and I go up-river for a day and fish together. It may seem corny, but it’s a great way to spend the day together. It would be great if you wanted to come along. I could teach you,” he added warmly.

Alex sat motionless, unable to say a word.

Less than a month, and he was already being offered inclusion to a cherished family tradition? That wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right. He hadn’t earned that; it didn’t belong to him. And what right did George have to pretend otherwise? To act like everything was ok?

A tiny part of Alex knew it wasn’t George’s fault, but everything else in him shouted ‘no.’

And fishing. Water, lots of deep water, being much too close to it. Maybe right even on top of it. No.

But still he didn’t want to hurt the man.

“Um,” he swallowed. “I- I don’t know. Can I think about it?” he asked.

This time he couldn’t miss the slight way George’s face fell.

“Oh. Of course.”

Martha, who’d been watching their exchange, jumped in.

“Plenty of time to decide before then. No worries,” she said casually.

Alex contributed only minimally to the conversation for the rest of the meal and the clean-up process, before retreating to his room with a quiet word.

***********************************

“I think Alex likes you more than me,” George mused that night as he and Martha prepared for bed. Martha’s eyebrows rose, before she resumed changing.

“I highly doubt it, but what makes you think so?”

He shrugged, sitting down on his side of the bed. “It’s hard to say, but almost every time I bring up something we can do to spend time together, he’s hesitant, like he doesn’t want to but doesn’t want to be rude about it.” 

Martha considered for a moment, wiping her face clean with a damp towel, before seeming to realize something.

“Hm. Do you remember my sister’s cat Francis, who you thought was the most adorable critter on the face on the earth – which, fair – but he wouldn’t let you get within five feet of him to pet him or pick him up?” He nodded, and Martha came to sit on her own side.

“Well, what happened when you acted like you didn’t notice him, and just acted naturally, and sat quietly for a while?”

George thought. “Eventually he’d come up and rub against me or curl up in my lap.”

“Exactly,” Martha replied. “You had to let him come to you. The kid probably doesn’t feel secure in his place here long-term yet, and that’s only gonna be changed by time. And we don’t really know about his family before he arrived in Richmond; there’s likely some baggage to do with that.”

George nodded slowly. “That makes sense. But… you’re comparing Alex to a cat?”

She shrugged. “Well, as the youth might say, the word ‘fursona’ exists for a reason,” she said, trying to keep a straight face. He stared.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Suit yourself,” she replied lightly, kissing him on the cheek as they both settled under the covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's play "spot the allusions to historical Washington fun facts courtesy of tumblr that I didn't fact check myself"


	8. Early April - Emotion (and Groceries)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More low-budget heart-to-heart scenes. We'll get to stuff actually happening soon, promise.

Between George's mentioning the annual fishing trip and the following conversations over the next few weeks, Alex became cautiously aware of how much the Washingtons genuinely seemed to want to get to know him, and share something about themselves in return.

“How do you feel about curry, Alex?” Martha asked the following Sunday when they sat down to lunch.

“I’ve never had it,” he replied.

“Would you like to try it? I was just wondering, because since George and I both tend not to get home until later, we get a lot of mileage out of the slow cooker, and there’s a mild curry recipe that’s one of my favorites.” 

“Uh, sure. Why not?” Since he then looked back down at his plate, he missed the pointed look George sent Martha, and the acknowledging shrug she sent back.

“Dope. You wanna come with me to the store after this to get the ingredients then?” He couldn’t quite repress his grin at her continued use of ‘hip’ lingo.

“Sure.” 

George was a bit morose and contemplative as he picked at his food, until Martha waved her hand under the table to get his attention. 

[I'll ask] she tapped out on her knee in Morse where he could see. He gave her a grateful look.

Meanwhile, all Alex saw when he glanced up was Martha looking sideways at George, while he appeared to be looking intently down at her legs or lap.

Adults are weird, he thought to himself.

****************************

After lunch, Martha and Alex got in the car to head to the store, while George started a load of laundry (as per his and Martha’s trade-off system).

“Well Alex, you ready to brave the Sunday post-church crowds?”

He personally thought that sounded like a bit of an exaggeration, but nodded anyway. “Let’s do it.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration. 

There was only one major supermarket in their area, and as they navigated the isles it showed. They gathered meat, potatoes, an onion, tomatoes, more rice, and the relevant spices they’d run out of, and other items they’d need throughout the week, Alex and Martha had to worm their way through paths being blocked by shopping carts and humans alike. That, Alex realized, was one thing he hadn’t really needed to worry about in the group home, was grocery trips. The trade-off was well worth it though so far, even if he did have to press his lips together to prevent a sound of dismay from escaping him when he heard the total. Then again, even Martha had made a comment about inflation while they’d been shopping.

The sun was approaching its final descent when they left the store and began the drive back to the house. After a while, Martha turned down the music.

“You seem quiet, bud. Something on your mind?” she asked.

He didn’t answer at first. Then-

“How can you tell?”

She blinked in surprise a moment, and he hastened to clarify.

“I mean, I promise I’m not trying to be disrespectful. But how can you tell I’m quiet compared to normal? How can you tell how quiet or talkative is normal for me? I haven’t really been here all that long.” He said it all in a rush, and by the end his heart was beating a bit faster.

She tilted her head to the side, not diverting her eyes from the road.

“I suppose I can’t, not for sure yet. I just got the impression from our early conversations that you’re someone with a lot to say.” He let out a breath, partly relief and partly an emotion he couldn’t name.

“You’re not wrong, to be honest. I used to talk a lot, especially in school. Probably more than I should.” She nodded.

“Alright. So what’s going on in your head that’s got you occupied? If you want to share it.” 

He considered a moment.

“I guess I’m confused, more than anything. For one, you don’t talk like most of the women looking to foster kids that I’ve seen – not that I’m saying they talk in a bad way, I guess. But you talk like you’re closer to my age.”

“Are you saying… that I’m not a regular foster mom; I’m a cool foster mom?” He laughed, getting the impression she was quoting something but not feeling the need to ask.

“Something like that, yeah. But I guess what I mean most is – I’m not sure how to say it… You don’t act like you expect me to accept you as a mom – not yet. You don’t talk in a way that pushes me to see you that way. You act more like, well, like I’d imagine an aunt who’s really looking out for me would act.”

She was quiet for several moments.

“I wouldn’t try to replace your mom, Alex. I’ve been in a position similar to yours in that regard, and it was awkward as hell. It was confusing; it made me feel guilty. I certainly wouldn’t want to put you through that if I could help it. So I’m here to act in the role that you need – or at least the one you give the impression of needing. If that happens to align with the way I normally use humor, I consider that a plus.”

He was somewhat reassured by that, but still felt uncertainty like an ember in his gut.

“What about George?” he asked quietly. She looked sideways at him for a second before returning her eyes to the road.

“What about him?”

Alex took a fortifying breath. “I kind of get the sense that he wants more, that he wants to be my dad. And I’m not ready for that. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve both been super nice to me, but… my dad ditched us when I was still just a toddler. I can’t- I couldn’t let someone-“

Martha could hear him getting agitated and distressed, and she reached out to put a hand gently on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s ok.” She paused. “Like I said, we’re both here to help you in whatever way you need the most; we agreed on that much when we applied to foster you. But I don’t speak for George. We’ve got a lot in common, and we’ve learned to communicate pretty darn well over the years, but we don’t share a brain. And I’ve learned it’s best to not make assumptions about what people want – easier said than done, believe me. But if it’s bothering you, you should probably just ask him. And I can tell you this: even if you ask, and he does admit that he wants to be a father to you, he’ll still respect your boundaries and your limits. All you have to do his tell him what they are.”

Alex relaxed in his seat, relieved.

“Thanks, Martha.”

“Anytime.” 

They let a few more minutes of quiet pass between them as the buildings gave way to fields and trees through the windows.

“You know, you’re really good at this emotional stuff. I’m kind of surprised you became a radiologist and not a psychologist or a therapist,” Alex noted.

“Hah!” Martha gave a short, ironic laugh. “You know, it’s funny you say that. I was seriously thinking about taking that path, back when I was a corpsman. Read a lot of books about therapy and communication; that’s where I got most of my know-how. But eventually I realized I wouldn’t do very well in that role professionally.”

“How come?”

“I’ll let you in on a secret, bud: it’s because I would never be able to keep a neutral face if people were telling me about their problems and their feelings all day, every day. You get a wide variety of people revealing a lot about themselves in that line of work, and a lot of it ain’t pretty. According to my behavioral health colleagues, it can be hard not to be judgmental, and they’d see it in me all too soon. I like having that technological distance separating me and the patient.”

“Huh.” That made a lot of sense to him, when he considered it.

“Yeah. Plus,” she added with more levity, “that kind of work takes a lot of emotional labor. And I’d rather save my energy for those who are really important to me.” She finished by reaching over and ruffling his hair, making him grin despite himself.

“Marthaaaa!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Hopefully I'll be speeding this up a bit soon. Big Thanks to everyone who commented on the last chapter, y'all are the best!


	9. Late April - You Could Show Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dramatic theatrical monologues and iceberg-tip of angst incoming.

Alex had never thought himself to have any hang-ups in regards to confronting people. He certainly never had trouble saying when he disagreed with someone in school, and he’d been quick enough to question the Washingtons’ intentions that first night when they met. So he was quite put-upon by his own dread and delay now. However, he knew in the back of his mind where it all came from: namely, the fact that he didn’t want to have an actual confrontation at all. Just in the month he’d been living with the Washingtons, he’d come to value the beginning of a relationship he had with both of them, for all the awkward middle-ground he’d kept to with George. He didn’t want to damage what he’d gained.

At the same time, he didn’t want his own distrust and personal issues to cause bitterness to grow between them over time; that would be even worse. (If he had to ruin something good, better do it sooner rather than later, and not make it any worse on George and Martha than it had to be.) So, bolstered by Martha’s advice to be open and by George’s to be up-front and clear with his concerns, he made himself knock lightly on the doorframe of the small office the Washingtons shared one Friday afternoon. 

“Alex,” George noted in surprise when he looked up. “What can I do for you?” When he took note of Alex’s apprehensive look, his brows furrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” the teen said first, then looked down at his shoes. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

George pushed his chair back from the desk, turning to face Alex more fully. “That sounds serious.” Alex shrugged.

“It’s probably not. Just one of those ‘weird feelings I don’t know what to do with’ that Martha mentioned my first night.”

George blinked a few times; Alex wondered if the man was surprised that he was actually taking their advice. Teenage stubbornness and all.

“That’s serious enough for me,” George said, saving his work and getting up from the desk. “Let’s find someplace better to talk.” He gestured Alex to precede him out of the office, which he did. He was about to lead them into the living room, before he paused, considering.

“Actually, how about a walk? It’s nice out, and I always find it easier to organize my thoughts when I’m moving a bit.”

Alex nodded, relieved. “That’s a good idea.” Sitting still indoors would be too stifling.

George grabbed the house keys, and donning shoes and light sweatshirts, they stepped outside. The ground was relatively dry, so rather than following the lane George set a meandering path through the front yard. They found their pace in silence, striding over the meadow grasses and between the earliest flower buds. Finally, George spoke.

“What’s troubling you, Alex?”

The teen hesitated a moment, adding some swing to his arms as he walked, as if to give himself the internal momentum to find his words – something he’d rarely if ever needed before.

“You and Martha are fostering me,” he began after a deep breath. “The state recognizes you as my foster parents for the time being. That makes me your foster son. That’s our official arrangement. Mentally, I know that.”

George had his head turned partially to face Alex, but he kept walking forward and didn’t force direct eye contact. Alex was grateful.

“…But emotionally is a different matter?” George asked cautiously. Alex nodded, relieved.

“Yes, that’s it exactly. And that’s not a reflection on you guys at all,” he rushed to add. “That’s all on me.”

“Alex, it’s perfectly normal for you to not think of us in that way yet,” George offered quietly. 

“But you’ll want me to eventually,” Alex replied even quieter. He had to keep his gaze focused down on the ground to keep his nerve. “Isn’t that true? Aren’t you looking forward to that even now? Isn’t that why you help me whenever I have a question on my homework, or why you offered to take me with you to work like normal parents do? Isn’t that why you already invited me to the family-only fishing trip? Isn’t that why you had no problem telling your students I was your foster son?”

He hadn’t noticed when he stopped walking, or when his voice started to rise. He hadn’t noticed when George stopped as well, turning to fully face him in surprise. He’d found his momentum, and now, like an engine with ruined brakes, he couldn’t stop.

“You and Martha are so nice, so cool, so badass; you have your shit together so much!” George seemed too stunned to even take note of his profanity, let alone reprimand him for it. Or perhaps he was just used to it from Martha. “You could have any kid, any son you wanted in the Virginia system! Probably could have had your pick from out-of-state too! And because they’re normal kids just on hard times and not raging disaster dumbasses, they’d have jumped at the chance and not questioned everything. Me? I’m a mess. I haven’t been anyone’s son in a long time-“ He ignored the cracking of his voice. “And I haven’t had a father in way longer.” 

His chest was heaving for breath by the time he paused. The space between him and George felt unnaturally silent. From beyond the house to the North, a sharp spring wind was coming through, bending the grass. It was only that wind catching the water on his face that made him realize he’d started crying.

He dragged his sleeve across his eyes bitterly. “I may never be able to give you the relationship you want. To be the son you want.”

The silence reigned several moments longer, broken only by the wind. After George still didn’t say anything, Alex wondered if he’d overwhelmed him with his yelling, and wanted to kick himself even more. 

He put his gaze resolutely back to the ground.

“… I’ve learned it helps to not make assumptions about what people want.”

Alex snapped his face back up, stunned.

George was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“Alex,” he breathed, “so-“ He cut himself off, before shaking his head.

“My emotions, what I want in that sense, are not your responsibility to bear. Same with Martha. It’s very important that you know that.”

Alex nodded, cautiously.

“And if there’s one thing my experiences and my knowledge of Martha’s experiences have taught me, it’s that ninety-nine percent of those other kids feel like just as much of a mess as you feel. You absolutely deserve a place to feel safe and people who care about you every bit as much as they do. And in the interest of full honesty, the two of us still feel like huge messes a lot of the time too; you’ve seen a little part of that yourself. There’s a lot we’re still figuring out, just like you. We’ve just been playing that game longer. Every day is a step in an ongoing process. All we want is for you to know you can be part of it. That we can build a new process to incorporate what you need and what you feel comfortable with. You don’t have to be ready for labels or fishing trips – not now, not six months from now. All we can do is take it a day at a time.”

With that, George held a cautious hand out towards Alex, palm up. Not infringing on his space, not demanding contact. Simply offering a mooring line to grasp onto, if needed and wanted.

Slowly, he reached up and placed his hand in the warm larger one that waited for him – would wait as long as necessary.

“Okay,” he whispered. And turning, they walked hand in hand back toward the house.

In the meadow, the wind had shifted, and turned a little bit warmer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene was a massive block of blank space in my head for a few days and I didn't know how to handle it. Only indulging in light alcohol helped free up the brainwaves again; hopefully it doesn't show in the grammar or readability. Our young dude has a lot of repressed crap that is only now forcing its way to the surface, and won't go back down without a fight - so's y'all are aware that the next chunk of chapters won't have quite as light a tone. (there'll still be some laughs, don't worry. Relentless pain is not my thing.)


	10. Author's Note / Drunken Character Musings

No, this fic is not even close to being abandoned, don't worry.

Since I am once again buzzed in the safety of my home, I ask you, my few but proud readers, to consider for a moment:

Martha and George pre-gaming and attending a midnight showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show, complete with festive outfits / props and participation. Alex could be included when he's old enough and warned not to take the narrative remotely seriously. Consider the hilarity.

That is all.

p.s. I'll probably delete this note or at least save it for the end when the fic is completed. Maybe I'll expand it into a fun epilogue if anyone want it enough ;)


	11. May I - School Daze (and Tests)

It turned out that “one day at a time” suddenly started to go by very fast. If the following weeks had adhered to what could be considered totally normal circumstances, things might have gone quite differently.

May meant the final stretch for the school year, and finals, and the last chance to make a strong academic impression before the start of high school. Alex was determined to get into as many Honors freshman classes as he could, which meant absolutely no slacking. If focusing so much on his school work also meant a distraction from thinking about how emotionally vulnerable he’d been with George that day, no one needed to know about it.

Alex noticed that the man had seemed to be sincere in his words, because while he caught him looking at Alex with what he thought was concern multiple times, George had also toned down the overt ‘father-son’ type gestures a bit. In fact, he appeared to be willing to trust Alex with a little more independence. Since finals and the last big projects were approaching and he needed to focus more than ever on his own studies, Alex wanted to put a temporary hold on sitting in on George’s lectures. George, in response, had a campus guest pass made for him so he could spend more time working in the library, on the condition that he intermittently texted George to let him know he was okay. He also seemed fine with Alex staying home to work at least one day a week, provided he took breaks for food and stretching his legs. Alex was happy to cooperate.

Despite their own busy work schedules, both of the Washingtons made themselves available to Alex whenever he needed assistance academically, for which he was incredibly grateful. George would answer any questions he had on history, of course, and would read over and offer feedback on his English assignments (composition he was very solid on; literature analysis was a different matter), while Martha would quiz him on his basic periodic elements or his pre-algebra concepts after dinner. 

He was aware however, in the vaguest way, that they seemed to get more concerned about him as the weeks passed, especially after his talk with George. He would occasionally notice them exchanging certain looks, like when he’d ask to stay up later to keep studying, or when he’d eat less at meals because stress and nerves were taking a toll on his appetite. 

He’d thought he suddenly understood the reason for their concern when they reminded him that the first foster care home visit / check-in was coming up, at the end of the second week of May. Processing that, he felt a touch of guilt, and resolved to get back to relatively normal sleeping and eating habits, at least for the time being. He didn’t want Martha and George to get a bad review because he was paranoid about his grades. He was incredibly relieved, then, when they got the notice that Beatrice would drive up to do the visit herself. She at least understood to a degree that he could get a bit one-track-mind sometimes. If he still looked tired when she arrived, she’d know it wasn’t the Washingtons’ fault (hopefully).

That Friday, he made sure to complete his assignments as soon as possible after breakfast. Martha was reluctant to leave and wanted to take off work to meet Beatrice with George when she arrived, but unfortunately such flexibility wasn’t the life of a doctor. So she let him indulge in some coffee with her, and showed him a funny meme she’d found to distract him and keep his spirits up. When it was time for her to leave, she gave him a warm smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder, before stepping out the door and rumbling down the lane. Seeing it through the kitchen window always made Alex grin and think of that really old “Bad to the Bone” song. (He still didn’t have a helmet, but that was alright; he didn’t have time for a ride anyway. After finals.)

Soon George came down and ate breakfast; between them they cleaned the dishes quickly before moving on to dust and vacuum the common areas like they did most Fridays (only today they did it earlier). Finishing that, they met again at the kitchen table, Alex with his textbooks and George with his lesson planning / grading. As lunch time approached, the doorbell rang. They both took a deep breath.

“I guess it’s time,” George said, rising and going to the door. Alex followed. When they opened the door, Beatrice was there with a grin.

“Alex! Mr. Washington! Great to see you both.”

“Please, call me George,” he said, offering a hand first this time; she accepted gladly, and George ushered her in. He offered to take her coat, which she accepted. “Martha wanted to be here, but unfortunately work…”

“I totally understand,” Beatrice replied smoothly. 

Inspired by George taking her coat like a gentleman, Alex jumped in.

“Can I get you something to drink, Bea?” She laughed.

“My goodness! I’m not the queen, Alex. But, I wouldn’t say no to some black coffee if you’ve got it.”

“You came to the right place,” he said with a grin, before going to get her a cup. While he was pouring it, he could hear Beatrice talking to George as they sat down in the living room.

“You shouldn’t be nervous, it’s a very simple process. I talk to you both together for a bit, do a walk-through to make sure the environment is still fine – I’m sure it is – and then I talk to you both separately. I can get Martha’s interview over the phone when she’s done tonight. Do you have any questions?”

“I don’t think so,” George replied as Alex came in with Beatrice’s coffee.

“How about you, Alex?” she asked, giving him a knowing look as she accepted her cup. “Any questions?”

“Nope,” he answered, sitting down on the couch. She nodded.

“Very good. So how would you both say things are going?”

“Good,” both males said simultaneously. She snorted.

“Ok, let’s break it down a bit,” she said with a smile. 

What followed was a series of relatively straightforward questions about their normal routine, how Alex was doing with the distance learning, if they were having a relevant amount of arguments or emotional clashes, and the like. Later, Alex trailed behind the adults as Beatrice did the walk-through with a clipboard.

“Any firearms introduced to the home since your initial inspection?” she asked.

“No,” George replied firmly, his face having gone a bit stiff. Alex thought he understood at least some of the reason behind it – he’d seen enough of the news, after all. It was probably worse here in the South.

Alex noticed how she made sure all the smoke detectors and fire extinguishers were operational and/or not expired. “Any prescription medication on hand?”

“Only what’s already on file for Martha,” George replied. Alex blinked; he hadn’t known that.

Beatrice nodded, checking off another box. “Very good, very good. That takes care of that portion.”

She chose to interview George alone first, and they went into the office and closed the door. Alex sat on the couch and didn’t bother trying to study. He did his upmost to keep the nervous fidgeting at bay.

Finally after about fifteen minutes, the office door opened and they emerged, Bea looking satisfied and George relieved.

“Your turn, Alex,” she said with a reassuring smile. He and George switched places, and he followed Beatrice through the office door. When it was closed again, she turned to him.

“So, now that it’s just us, full disclosure time. How are you finding it here?” 

He let out a large breath.

“I was telling the truth before. It’s good – probably better than I could have ever expected,” he added quietly. She looked at him intently.

“They’re providing for you adequately, materially and emotionally?”

“Yes.” More than he’d been prepared for, honestly.

“You’re getting along; do you think the three of you are still compatible?”

“Yeah, definitely. They’re different, but I think in my case different is a good thing.”

“They’re not using excessive discipline or causing you harm?” He shook his head forcefully.

“Definitely not. They haven’t raised a hand to me once.”

“Do you feel like you’re being used or exploited in any way?” He shook his head again.

“No.” She nodded, and paused, before speaking again.

“The core question: Do you feel safe here with George and Martha? Physically and emotionally? Do you think you’ll continue feeling safe if you stay long term?”

He swallowed. 

“I feel safer here than I think I ever have since I came to the mainland,” he whispered. “And that… that kind of scares me. Does that make sense?”

She nodded, relief plain in her expression.

“It makes perfect sense.”

She asked a few more questions, before concluding the interview, and they left the office. George was still sitting where Alex had been, his hands opening and closing on his knees.

“Well, officially, we won’t have your results until Monday,” Beatrice said when George looked up. “But unofficially, everything seems to be going well above average, and I’m very pleased.”

George and Alex both let out relived breaths, making her smile.

She had them both sign one of her forms, gave them some information about when the next visit would likely be scheduled, and reminded them that she’d still need Martha’s phone interview. Following that, she wished them well and they said their goodbyes, and she retrieved her jacket and went on her way.

When they’d seen her off and closed the door, Alex and George returned to the couch, sitting back down with simultaneous relieved sighs. They sat in contemplative silence for a few moments… until Alex’s stomach grumbled. It was now past normal lunch time.

“You want to get McDonalds?” George asked. Alex let out a short laugh.

“Yes please,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The big shit will break the surface next chapter, ye be warned. There will be some tags added.


	12. May II - Stormy Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I guess.

Mentally, Alex knew that Martha’s early prediction about Mount Vernon turning into “one big mud-hole” meant a seasonal change in weather. But he didn’t truly process what that meant. Both of those together meant one thing:

Alex had been right to fear feeling safe. 

He wasn’t prepared.

*******************************************

Another grueling week of school work passed by, including the last essays, projects, and secondary subject tests before finals. Many of those meant having to go to the local middle school in person for accountability’s sake, which meant changes in his transportation routine. George and Martha offered to drop him off at the school before work on the necessary days and pick him up after, but he insisted he could take the bus and just keep studying at the school after whatever he needed to do that day (they’d already gotten him registered on the bus schedule for the next year, so he was clear to ride now). 

The third Friday of May meant such a schedule for a health-science test and a brief oral history presentation to do with post-Civil War Reconstruction; the guidance counselor acting as his proxy would record him and send the digital presentation file to his actual school in Richmond. They took place nearly back-to-back, and he left the guidance counselor’s office mentally drained but feeling relatively proud of himself, and he felt justified in using the lunch money Martha gave him on the school’s (questionable) pizza.

He took his tray from the end of the line after paying, and sat down at the table in the corner of the cafeteria he defaulted to on his proxy-days. Today, however, after a few minutes, another boy approached him, tray in hand. Alex looked up. The boy had curly brown hair, light brown skin, and a smattering of freckles.

“Hi,” he greeted. “I’ve seen you here a few times, but nowhere near often enough for you to be an actual student. What’s the deal with that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

As awkward as it felt, Alex realized he didn’t actually mind.

“It’s complicated,” he said, gesturing the kid to sit down across from him. “I moved here from Richmond kind of short-notice, so they let me finish the year with them through distance learning. I just have to come here to take tests and give presentations and stuff. I’ll be a regular student here in the fall, though. Well, not here per say, at the high school.”

“Huh, that’s cool, I’ll start high school next year too,” the boy said. “What’s your name, man?”

“Alexander Hamilton. What’s yours?”

“John Laurens.” And the rest of the lunch period passed in surprisingly easy conversation.

At the end of the period, he casually exchanged phone numbers and farewells with John before moving to (where else) the school library. When he sat down with his science notebook, however, he found he couldn’t concentrate, and after several minutes of fruitless attempts at studying, he took to wandering the fiction shelves aimlessly. The wind he could distantly hear picking up outside seemed to echo the restlessness he felt within his own mind and body.

When the end of the school day came and he went outside to the bus lineup, he was startled to find it raining heavily, with hard winds; he hadn’t realized a thunderstorm had started. He made himself keep walking to his bus, trying to keep his breaths even and his mind blank. Once he’d made it onto the bus and sat down, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Pulling it out, he found a text message from George.

Flash flooding advisory, Martha says it’s probably  
too dangerous to ride her bike home; she’s  
going to get a ride from a coworker but they live  
on the other side of town so I’m going to meet  
them at the post office to pick her up. Be careful  
coming home, text if you have any problems.

Alex made himself type out a reply – he tried to ignore how his fingers started trembling as the rain pounded harder against the windows. The entirety of the trip, he was fighting his mind, trying to push away the memories by any means necessary – reading the names of road and store signs silently, grasping onto every little reminder of where he was instead of where he wasn’t, even writing George and Martha’s names with a shaking hand in the condensation on the window.

The minute they reached his stop and he forced himself to step down, it was all for nothing.

A numbness had already spread through his face and limbs, making the rain hitting his skin sting like needles. The powerful gusts of wind shoved at his thin frame, making him stagger. He was every bit as small and powerless now as he was then; was he actually fourteen? Had all the time between then and now just been cooked up in his brain as he tried to escape?

The span of the lane from the road to the house was no more than fifty yards on any other day. Now it looked like miles out of his reach, making his stomach churn. A clap of thunder overhead made him jump with a cry, so loud it shook his bones - the wind roaring in his ears drowned out his own voice. 

He forced himself forward, trying to keep his eyes on the farmhouse even as they were pelted with rain. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other as his heart pounded. His feet began to feel even more wet; he looked down to see water streaming over them as the lane started to flood…

“No!” he moaned; his eyes and his mind couldn’t tell if the water only came up to his ankles or to his knees; if he was out much longer it wouldn’t make a difference-

The branches of the trees lashed against each other as they were bent violently back and forth – every scrape of friction seemed amplified to nails on a blackboard in his ears. Every flash of lightning seemed like it was right on top of him, like a giant monster trying to catch him in the beam of its flashlight so it could stomp him out like a bug-

“High ground,” he gasped out. “Get to high ground,” forcing himself still forward. Reaching the house seemed impossible, but he had to try. There was someone- someone he owed it to at least try…

He didn’t know how he made it to the porch, but somewhere between the torrents of rain and the thrashing wind and the lightning and thunder and the haze of terror in his mind, he did. Grabbing one of the support poles he hauled himself up the steps that only seemed slightly familiar. Something in him remembered that there was a key in his pocket, but when he pulled it out his hands were shaking so hard it took multiple tries to fit it into the lock. Finally an impossibly small click whispered of salvation, and he pushed open the door and stumbled inside, slamming it closed behind him.

He forgot about the backpack and jacket he was wearing; he didn’t think to check if the power was still on; the only thing pushing through the fog was finding whoever else was in the house.

“G—Geo-“ he couldn’t finish, words and names and details were getting mixed together in a horrendous multi-colored blur. He gasped in a breath, trying to remember who he was looking for.

“M-Mar… Ma—mamá!”

No! a corner of his mind yelled back, she isn’t here. She won’t be here, she’s already-

“Hello?!” he yelled desperately, the desire to find the others warring with the desire to get to safer elevation. He staggered to the stairs he saw and pulled himself up by the railing.

High ground.

****************************

George nervously checked his phone for messages again as they slowly approached the house: nothing. All the windows were completely dark, but when Martha hit the button on the remote for the garage door, it still worked and the door opened.

A whisper in his mind said something wasn’t right. That instinct was only helped along by Martha being uncharacteristically quiet as she shut off the care engine and they unbuckled. They were both still unpleasantly wet from being temporarily exposed to the downpour, but as they passed through the door into the kitchen to find a completely dark and quiet house, that immediately became the least of their concerns.

“Alex should be home by now,” George said tersely. Martha nodded, striding forward with nervous energy. 

“I’m going to check the landline to see if he called and left any messages. Maybe the busses got delayed.”

“I’ll check upstairs. Maybe he came home and fell asleep,” he replied.

He hoped. God, he hoped.

Climbing the stairs, he noticed several wet patches going up the hand rail. His heart started beating faster.

The bathroom door was open and the space beyond was dark and devoid of teenage boys. Moving on, he sped up as he heard a faint noise from Alex’s room. Feeling some relief, he softly called Martha’s name over the railing before pushing the door open.

Alex wasn’t in his bed. He wasn’t at his desk. His wet backpack and jacket were on the floor, and he himself was sitting hunched partially inside his open closet, looking like a drowned animal and hugging himself.

“Christ,” George breathed. “Alex, what’s wrong? Why haven’t you gotten dried and warmed up?” He cautiously approached the teen. “Did something happen?”

Alex only shook his head minutely, staring past George at the window as if the devil himself was menacing just on the other side. But no one and nothing was there except the rain and wind. George felt a dread he couldn’t put words to slowly tightening into a knot in his stomach.

Martha must have heard his questions when she came up the stairs, because she’d stopped to retrieve a thick towel before following George into Alex’s room. When she saw him, she stiffened with a sharp inhale, but then pushed forward with a patently calm expression.

“Alex,” she became soothingly, “I don’t know what happened, but whatever it is, you’re safe here.” She stepped closer, holding up the towel. “Is it okay if I put this around you, chico?”

But Alex’s breath hitched, and he looked up at her in misery and dismay.

“No…” he whispered. “M- mamá? Is that-? It- it can’t be…”

With a sudden twisting in his gut, George realized how she must have looked and sounded, only partially lit from the light in the hall. Martha herself was suddenly about three shades paler, and looking more shaken than George had seen her in a long time. She held out the towel to him, still staring at Alex.

“You… you’d better do it,” she whispered. “I’ll just confuse him more.”

There was really only one response. He took the towel, all too aware of Martha backing away.

“Alex,” he began quietly. “It’s me, George. Can I come closer?”

The boy nodded, running a shaking hand through his dripping hair. He’d started rocking slightly back and forth.

George slowly approached, kneeled down oh-so-carefully, in reach but not so close as to be threatening. He held up the towel, and repeated Martha’s question.

Another shaky nod, and George gently drew the towel around the boy’s thin shoulders. Not knowing what to do after.

“Alex,” he tried quietly. “Can you tell me what happened? Or just nod yes or no if I ask questions? If you can’t tell us that’s okay. I promise we’ll help you as much as we can regardless.”

As Martha had predicted, clarity and a degree of understanding had slowly appeared on Alex’s face the more George talked. But returning awareness didn’t take away his turmoil, and he buried his face in his hands, still rocking.

“The storm,” he rasped, shoulders hitching as tears streaming down his cheeks. “The storm… I tried, but… high ground. Had to get to high ground.”

A moment of silence followed. Then-

“George,” Martha gasped behind him. He twisted to face her; she’d sat down on the foot of Alex’s bed to solemnly observe from a distance.

“His file. He’s from Puerto Rico,” she whispered, aghast. “His case was only opened early last year.”

Realization dawned with horror in him.

“Hurricane Maria,” George whispered.

Alex heard, and the words broke the dam in him. He began sobbing in earnest.

“Oh, Alex,” George whispered, heartbroken. “I- I can’t tell you how sorry I am that that happened to you. I know saying that doesn’t help at all or make the pain go away. But we’re here; we’ll help you with this, I swear it.”

Alex was still looking down at his lap, trembling as he cried. He haltingly described bits and pieces of the experience that didn’t make much sense to the adults, but they didn’t interrupt. George’s own eyes watered in sympathy, and he heard Martha sniffing from the bed. As he spoke in fits and starts, often unable to finish sentences, Alex gained a clearer awareness of his current reality, but the distress of the trauma still held him in its grip, and George was beginning to worry much more. The teen was losing his grip on words again, and was crying so hard he was gasping for breath. George was desperate to help him, but he didn’t know how.

“What do you need, Alex?” he asked helplessly. “What can I do?”

But Alex’s throat was so tight he couldn’t speak. Instead, after a moment he reached a trembling hand out to George. When the man accepted it, uncertain, Alex pulled it in and pushed George’s hand down on his own shoulder, leaning toward him.

“Please,” he gasped, barely audible. He knew where and when he was, but still felt like he was about to rattle out of his skin, and couldn’t help but fear that if that happened, the wind outside would snatch him up and drag him away, and he’d never land again.

“Oh,” George whispered. He wrapped his arms firmly around Alex’s shoulders and drew him in, engulfing him. “Of course, sweetheart.”

That broke Alex completely. He collapsed against George, wrapping his arms around the man’s torso and gripping his shirt in his fists for dear life – he knew where his body was, but his soul was still trapped back in that hurricane, and George was the only piece of solid land that wouldn’t let him drown.

“My boy,” George whispered, rocking him gently and resting his cheek on the wet crown of his head. “My Alex.”

Alex’s tears had broken a dam in George too – the one he’d put in place to hold back all the feelings that had been getting stronger since they’d met the bright, spirited, defensive teen, so as not to scare him away or make him feel penned in. 

But now he realized they had a much different priority.

“We’ll get you through this, I promise.” Alex nodded silently against his shoulder.

Turning his head, George looked back at Martha, and she nodded in affirmation, her determined expression saying more than words ever could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson: Can we get back to [the lighthearted stuff] now?  
> Madison: Please?
> 
> So in case I haven't made it clear, that "no research note" from chapter 1 has gone down the toilet.
> 
> I admit I included as little Spanish as possible in the hopes that the less I included the less I could fuck up, so...
> 
> You might have noticed that I didn't actually describe the destruction of the hurricane from Alex's perspective (just draw parallels to the event itself), and that may or may not change in later chapters. Put simply I didn't feel comfortable using the destruction of the very real hurricane I referenced for my fictional story. A surface level search didn't yield much in the way of Puerto Rico's current status, so if you know how they're doing feel free to share some useful info.
> 
> I think that's all. Aside from the fact that these updates are coming so fast that my brain kind of hates me, picks the worst times to obsess, and it's my go-to way of avoiding the pressing stuff in my own life.  
> Huzzah.


	13. May III - Stories of Last Night / Where Do We Go From Here?

When Alex opened his eyes the next morning, he was immediately assaulted by sunlight streaming in through his window and the worst headache he’d had in months. His throat was dry and scratchy, and he felt sort of crusty all over his body, like from dried moisture. He slowly rolled onto his back and pushed up onto his elbows. Slowly, he realized he didn’t remember going to bed last night. And…

Why was he wearing a regular tee shirt and pants? Why was he loosely cocooned in multiple towels? Why did his body feel like gravity was working harder against him today, like just moving took more effort and willpower than normal? 

He looked around his room, certain he was missing something, that some piece of information was just out of reach. His closet was open; he usually closed it. His school books and binders weren’t on his desk where he usually had them at night. 

His waterproof boots were sitting on another towel in the corner. He normally left them downstairs with George and Martha’s.

Looking at them, it started coming back.

Going to the school for the test, the presentation. The bus. The downpour, the lightning and thunder and roaring winds.

The memories… and everything that followed.

Martha and George finding him cowering in the closet. Him falling to pieces in front of them.

He buried his face in his hands, letting out a shaky breath. This was it, the moment everything would change. Now they knew what had happened (some of it, his mind hissed bitterly), and witnessed part of how it affected him, when he’d been pushing it down and avoiding thinking about it for so long. It had been waiting to get him, and it leapt at the perfect chance. And now…

At best, their behavior around him would be different. They’d be more cautious… they’d pity him. He couldn’t stomach anyone’s pity, but least of all theirs.

At worst… 

He hadn’t been careful enough. He’d only lived with them two months, and now he hated that he’d let himself get attached. He’d been stupid for not trying harder to keep them at arm’s length.

But…

A tiny end-piece of a thought whispered that he’d been on the other side of this; reminded him of that first Sunday night: the night he’d witnessed something George probably hadn’t wanted him to see so soon, something that affected how he experienced the world and interacted with it. The night Martha implied that she was coming from a similar place. And how the following morning, George had voiced his fear of how Alex would react, his fear that Alex wouldn’t want them anymore. Martha had raised a similar question, and he’d assured them both that their worst-case scenario wasn’t true.

‘Best not to make assumptions,’ they’d both said. He should probably start listening. And while Maria had driven him to fear the ocean’s wrath, he would never accept being a coward.

If they had changed their minds, he’d face it. If they held true to wanting him with them long-term, he’d prove he was worthy of it.

*********************************

George and Martha were subdued as they sat at the kitchen table, each staring into their drink. Neither had the energy or inclination to make food or brew coffee; they both woke up substantially earlier than normal for a Saturday, checked on Alex to find him still asleep, and made their way downstairs. They’d already broached what they wanted to discuss with Alex between themselves last night before going to sleep, and now they were each lost in their own thoughts.

Martha couldn’t help but wrestle with a certain amount of self-reproach on top of her general unease. The minute she’d edged out of her comfort zone to be more gentle and comforting with Alex, she’d made a bad situation worse. On top of that she couldn’t help but feel lousy for hanging back and leaving the delicate emotional work entirely to George, even though analytically she still believed her immediate presence would have likely upset Alex more, as she’d said. 

She shook her head ruefully. The good old perfectionism and self-criticism combo never left even when approaching middle age, and triggering a traumatized child’s memory of their likely-deceased mother was no one’s idea of healthy bonding. 

Meanwhile, George was plagued with his own internal arguments and self-doubts. When Alex had finally succumbed to his emotional and physical exhaustion and fallen asleep in George’s arms, he’d been overwhelmed by a frighteningly intense urge to never let that boy go again. In his mind, that urge created dissonance against the memory of his conversation with Alex just a few short weeks ago. Alex had made it clear that he wasn’t close to ready for a truly familial relationship between them, and George intended to honor and respect that. But at seeing Alex so helplessly distraught, George’s restraint had fallen away, and while the teen seemed comforted by it at the time, George wondered if it would make things worse in the light of day.

‘My boy,’ he called him. ‘My Alex,’ rocking him like a much younger child, as easy as breathing, even though it wasn’t his place and he had no right to say such things, especially not so soon. 

He could only hope Alex didn’t hate him too much for that. 

They heard the shower start upstairs, and looked at each other.

Soon, it’d be time to face the music.

*************************************

After firmly telling himself that the shower water was not the same as rain and that he was completely safe, Alex cleaned himself as quickly as possible and returned to his room to put on fresh clothes and comb his hair. Whatever he’d be facing when he went downstairs, he’d face it looking at least semi-presentable, and not like some pathetic creature that’d been fished from the river and left to dry on the sidewalk for the birds to eat.

His head still felt like it was being eaten by birds, that was for sure.

Martha and George were sitting at the kitchen table already, as he’d expected they would be. They both looked up when he entered.

“Morning, Alex,” Martha greeted. “How’re you feeling, bud?”

He shrugged. “Better. Still pretty crummy, to be honest, but… coherent, I guess is the most important thing.” She nodded.

“A little better is better than nothing,” she said with a tired smile. “Anything we can help with?”

“Um, I’ve got a pretty bad headache.”

“We’ve got something that should help with that.”

George then cleared his throat. “What would you like for breakfast?”

Alex grimaced. “I’m not really hungry – for once.” The adults exchanged a look.

“You fell asleep before you could have dinner last night,” George replied. “When was the last time you ate?”

Alex thought, mentally retracing his steps from yesterday, trying to skip over all the bad stuff as fast as possible.

“Yesterday at lunch, I guess.” Another look exchanged.

“What do you want for breakfast?” George repeated. His inflection this time suggested that not eating wasn’t an option, and Alex didn’t have the energy to dig his heels in. With any luck he’d feel hungry again once he started eating.

“Uh, are there any waffles left?” Martha nodded.

“You bet. Food and at least a full glass of water, then you can have some painkillers for your head. That stuff doesn’t work well on an empty stomach.”

Alex decided that was reason enough to eat. 

They were all uncommonly quiet as they ate. Conversation was non-existent, until Alex remembered something George said.

“I, uh, I guess you guys had to put me to bed, huh?” They nodded, looking slightly unsure.

“If you’re wondering why we just left you wrapped in the towels, it was because we weren’t sure if you’d be comfortable with the idea of us changing your clothes for you,” Martha offered.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks for that,” he replied. They were both plainly relieved.

When they’d finished eating, they unanimously knew it was time to address the elephant in the room, and Alex decided that he might as well show some spine and take the initiative.

“So… what are your guys’ thoughts? About what happened last night?”

He’d half expected some awkward hesitations or answering in circles, but Martha just took a deep breath and briefly looked over at George.

“I’ll start, hon.” He nodded, and she turned back to face Alex.

“Well, first and foremost we want to reassure you that we still mean what we told you the first night, and what George told you last night. We’re here to help you get through whatever you’re struggling with. And while we understand if you’re upset or if you didn’t want us to know about what happened to you, we can’t help but be grateful to have a clearer idea of where you’re coming from, so we can get a better idea of just how to help you. Make sense?”

Slowly, he nodded. “I think so. I mean, you’re right in that I hadn’t really wanted you to find out, at least not yet. And I’d always avoided talking about anything from before with any other potential foster family I was introduced to; I guess that made me not a good fit for the others. I was sort of worried that would happen now. But… I believe you.”

They both let out glad breaths. “Thank you, Alex” George said quietly. Alex nodded, and tried not to think of how he’d clung to the man while crying his eyes out. Tried not to dwell on the other things George had said.

“In terms of how to move forward, we have our own ideas but we wanted to discuss it with you. The typical first step is to start with grief or trauma counseling.”

He sat back a little at that. “Counseling… like, therapy?” She nodded.

“That’s right. Neither of us are experts, but last night seemed to suggest that you haven’t really processed what you experienced, and therapy usually helps with that to get you to a better place mentally.”

He mulled it over. His first gut reaction was to reject the idea, but he couldn’t exactly say he thought it wouldn’t help or wasn’t valuable – he’d expressed his belief in Martha’s potential skill for counseling as a compliment, after all.

“Isn’t therapy expensive?” he asked, partially to stall and partially out of genuine concern.

“You don’t have to worry about that one bit, Alex,” George said firmly.

“And that’s not us bullshitting you, I promise,” Martha added. “If there’s one thing those doctorate student loans were good for, it’s a position with solid health insurance. And even if for some reason that wouldn’t cover it, you are technically the dependent of two veterans, and there’s a VA hospital not far.”

“And what’s best for you is the primary focus,” George said. “Like we said, Martha and I absolutely here for you whenever you need to talk or vent or anything, but we’re not trained counselors. Your health and wellbeing are too important to not enlist professional guidance.” He paused. “If you genuinely don’t want to… well, we won’t force you. Unless we see your mental health get worse. But we strongly encourage you to give a consideration.”

“We’ve both been through our share of crap, and it’s helped both of us in the past. Granted, neither of us have lived through massive natural disasters, but I’d say it’s worth a shot,” Martha finished. 

He considered in silence for several moments; they didn’t pressure him. 

“I think I’d like to try it,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to keep carrying this around. But I’m also worried. I’ve been avoiding talking or even thinking about it – about any of it – for so long, I don’t know if I could just start talking about it to a stranger out of the blue.”

Martha slid her hand towards his on the table, hesitant. When he inched his own toward hers, she covered it with her own.

“Sometimes it’s easier talking to a stranger. There’s less concern of judgement from them than with someone close to us.”

He took a deep breath, and nodded. “Let’s try it.” Their relief was palpable. “But after finals,” he added a bit louder. George immediately looked more concerned, but Martha gave a terse chuckle.

“I suppose that’s fair.”

“I don’t want you putting your grades above your health, though,” George said seriously.

‘I’m not,” Alex replied. “It’s just that they’re kind of time sensitive, and this stuff… it’s been there for a while. I don’t think it’s going anywhere.” He paused. “And hey, once they’re over, less to stress over, right?”

George didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded. “Alright. After finals are over. But… let us drop you off and pick you up for next week. Just in case.”

Alex nodded. “Okay. Deal.”

****************************

Alex ended up being grateful for that arrangement, because not having to catch the bus meant he was able to get a little more sleep after studying late-ish into the nights. He also appreciated Martha and George’s good luck wishes when he left the car in the mornings – he wouldn’t pretend it didn’t get a little unnerving repeatedly taking his tests alone in the guidance counselor’s office, being the sole focus of her vigilant but unassuming eye. English, history, pre-algebra, and physical science, they marched one after the other. Finally Thursday evening came, and he left the middle school hand cramping but relieved, feeling like he could finally breathe freely again. His grades would be mailed out to him, and that would be that; for now it was out of his hands. 

As promised, the hatchback was in the circular school driveway not five minutes after he’d stepped out the door.

“Hey!” Martha greeted as he opened the back door and got in. “How do you think it went?”

“Hard to say. There were some tricky ones, but the mnemonic you gave me really helped,” he replied.

“Glad to hear it. You happy it’s over?” 

He grinned. “Very. I’m looking forward to being a normal student.”

George couldn’t quite hide his amusement. “Most kids are just happy for summer break,” he noted, but Alex shrugged, feeling lighter than he had in a while.

“Guess I’m not most kids,” he replied.

“Well, we already knew that,” George said, with more warmth than Alex had been expecting. It got him thinking – remembering.

Martha suggested they go out to eat to celebrate, and he readily agreed. They ended up at a popular “home cooking” buffet in town (though Alex agreed with Martha’s quiet observation that they had a limited perspective on what “home cooking” meant). Still, the food was good and the experience pleasant, and as they took turns going through the buffet lines, it gave him time to think. 

It had taken a bit more time to remember some of the details of the night of his flashback. His gut rolled a bit with difficult emotions at the memory of confusing Martha for his mother in the dim light and in the midst of his own shaky grip on reality. Even in the moment, he hadn’t really let himself believe it enough to feel much loss when clarity returned. Keyword being ‘much.’ And poor Martha, he couldn’t imagine what that had felt like for her. It also made him wonder what had finally let her speak that tiny bit of Spanish to him that night after she hadn’t been since he arrived. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to make him homesick. He could appreciate that, in a bittersweet sort of way.

As for George, it was… different. He supposed he could have resented the man, upon return to his mostly normal mental state, for speaking of him possessively the way he had, and he figured he’d be within his rights to, as they had no biological ties. But in the moment, he’d just been so relieved to know that someone was there for him, would look after and protect him, that he hadn’t cared about anything else; hadn’t been embarrassed to be held and rocked like a big baby. 

And after…

Now, he somehow still couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, surprisingly. But really, he’d spent over a year trying to distance himself from his past and trying to pretend that, beyond the group home, he could independent until he was eighteen and beyond. But he was only just finishing middle school now, for crying out loud, and he was just tired of constantly telling himself he didn’t need anyone after losing what he’d had. He was tired of it.

And George had assured him that it was okay for him to not be ready for certain things, and somehow… that night had proven that it was okay. Alex not being ready to think of George as a father clearly hadn’t changed what the man himself felt, for whatever reason – it hadn’t made him resentful or cold toward Alex; he hadn’t pushed or demanded, and he’d still been able and willing to give the comfort that Alex had so desperately needed when he’d been at his most vulnerable. 

He’d proven what he’d still give, even if Alex wasn’t ready to give it in return.

That… that meant something.

When Martha went to the dessert line, Alex realized he had the answer for a question he hadn’t even been consciously thinking about.

“George?” he asked quietly. The man looked up, giving him his attention.

“Yes?”

He took a deep breath. “Is there still time to add me on to the fishing trip next month?”

George stared.

“Alex,” he breathed. “I don’t—you shouldn’t… I don’t want you to go because you feel like you have to, or to spare my feelings. I promise I don’t mind.”

The teen shook his head. “I want to go,” he insisted. “I want to meet your dad and brother – Martha’s family too when I can. I want to learn to fish. And…” he paused. “And if you’re there, maybe being out by the water won’t be so frightening. But I do want to go.”

“Oh,” George said, blinking rapidly. “Then of course there’s still time.”

The happiness of his expression made Alex feel like there was warm sunlight shining down on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a longer one, so hopefully that partially makes up for it basically being a multi-POV chapter of "previously on..."
> 
> Next update might not be for a little while; moving and work and such.
> 
> Feedback appreciated as always!


	14. June I - Tell Them About It / River of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therapy and Fishing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter I get really fast and loose with supporting character names / relationships from the source material, for reasons I'll explain at the end.
> 
> I changed George and Laurence's father's name to Andrew, because Augustine is such a poncy, British-y name.

Alex, Martha, and George sat in a semi-circle of chairs across from Dr. Derek Jackson in his office at the Doctors Community Hospital where Martha worked. Dr. Jackson was a cleanly casual-looking man close in age to the Washingtons, and he seemed nice and knowledgeable enough, but despite what Alex had said to them previously about this venture, he was trying very hard not to jump up from his chair and run out the door.

He’d never had professional therapy before. He’d spoken to a few social workers with counseling or disaster relief training, but in those instances, he’d been one of many who needed assistance. It felt strange to have so much attention focused solely on him.

“So, Alex, since you’re a minor, and we have a rough idea of why you’re here, I’m going to propose something a little different than normal,” Derek began (he’d asked Alex specifically to call him that – probably to help along the ‘sharing your baggage’ process). 

“What’s that?” Alex asked, trying not to expose his nerves.

“Well, ordinarily therapy sessions would all be completely private, just patient and doctor with total confidentiality, and we’d start small. But I suggest that we have a preliminary session today that both Martha and George can be present for, even if they’re just observing and not speaking or reacting in any way.”

Alex frowned, not upset but just confused. “What would be the reason for the change?”

“Disaster survivors often have many symptoms in common, and one of the biggest? Survivor’s guilt.”

Alex let out a breath. “Oh.” Yeah, he knew about that.

Derek nodded. “I see you’re familiar with the term. I want to tackle this on the first day because that guilt can come with a high risk of self-destructive behavior, which George and Martha definitely need to be aware of if they’re going to help me help you. Now, reasonable suspicion on my part that you’re at risk of hurting yourself or others is acceptable grounds for me to break your confidentiality with them, just so you know. But forewarned is forearmed, and all that.”

The teen nodded slowly. “Yeah… that makes sense.” He could sense more than see the Washingtons’ relief flanking him.

Derek leaned forward, elbows on his knees and fingers interlaced.

“So, all that being said, the big question, ripping off the crusty old Band-Aid: Do you feel guilty that you survived the hurricane when others didn’t?”

Alex looked down at his lap, highly aware of Martha and George’s concerned eyes on him. But as they’d been indirectly instructed not to interfere, he tried not to modify his answer based on how they would react.

“I guess,” he said quietly. “I mean, why wouldn’t I? By that time, my-“ he paused, and swallowed, made himself continue - “- my mom had already passed, it was just me, staying with a neighbor. But the others, they were losing parents, siblings, their own kids… that’s not right. My surviving seemed like a bad joke. Wouldn’t it make more sense-“

He thought he saw a flash of orange on the edge of his vision, and the next second he was getting hit in the chest with a small yellow foam ball.

He stared down at the offending projectile on the floor, then up at Derek.

“Dude, what the crap.” Derek smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry about the interruption, and I certainly don’t intend to downplay a very awful experience for you, and everyone else caught in that hurricane. But over the last few years my colleagues have discussed this as a very effective tool for helping people identify their unhealthy and negative thoughts about themselves,” he explained, indicating the nerf gun in his hand. “Think of it as a cognitive recalibration device. If you devalue your survival, and by extension your very existence, you get nerfed. Simple as that.”

Alex stared some more, trying to keep up with what he was hearing. “I’m confused,” he eventually admitted. “I though part of the point of therapy was to get me to talk about this stuff, and be honest about what’s bothering me. But if you use that thing to, I don’t know, negatively reinforce me saying stuff you don’t like, or whatever you call it, wouldn’t that lead me to just bottle it up again? Isn’t that counter-productive?”

Derek was looking at him shrewdly, the beginnings of a smile on his face. “Sharp,” he nodded, “you’re very sharp. Yes, there is some risk of this method backfiring, but the idea is to eventually get the association to go beneath the surface behavioral level, to actually reshape the way you think about yourself and your life.” He paused, setting the nerf gun aside and becoming more serious.

“Natural disasters and other freak tragedies don’t make value judgements about people, Alex,” he began solemnly. “For all the various religious or mythological concepts we have of death as a sentient, anthropomorphized figure. We can’t think of death as making calculations about who has more or less to lose; we’d collectively lose all our minds. It just happens, and we’re left to deal with the aftermath in whatever way we can. That doesn’t make any of us more or less deserving for having been spared. That doesn’t mean we’re betraying anyone by living our lives and trying to be happy.”

Alex had started trembling as Derek talked, and tears had started slipping quietly down his cheeks (how many times would he unintentionally break out the waterworks before people got tired of it?). Derek silently held out a tissue box, so Alex grabbed a few and wiped his eyes furiously.

“Give me a little while to work on that one,” he said roughly. Derek nodded sympathetically.

“You can have as much time as you need. And you’re far from the first person who’s struggled with the idea. You definitely won’t be the last.”

****************************

The rest of Alex’s first session with Dr. Jackson passed in a far less… unsettling way, for lack of a better word. They’d accepted his recommendation of targeted short-term therapy first, and to re-evaluate what needed more work at the end of two months of once-a-week sessions. Derek outlined what they would aim for in future sessions: learning ways to manage flashbacks, journaling to keep track of guilty or other highly negative thoughts, how George and Martha could help him from home, and the like. They all agreed to let his future sessions be on his own, unless something radically changed or he decided he wanted them to come along later. They set the day and time for the future appointments, and took their leave.

All three were uncommonly subdued when they returned to the car. Alex could feel the emotional weight of the first session pressing down on all of them together, and they unanimously paused before opening the car doors. After a moment, George spoke.

“Alex, I… I really want to hug you right now. Would that be okay?”

“Yeah, me too kiddo,” Martha added, her face uncharacteristically drawn.

He’d never been confronted with so much care and support. Not since he came to the States.

“I…”

Screw it.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

That was how he found himself in the middle of an extremely affectionate Washington sandwich. There were far, far worse places to be.

*******************************

After the heaviness of his first therapy session, Alex was actively looking forward to the fishing trip, even if the environment of it made him nervous. He just had to remind himself that there would multiple experienced adults there to keep things under control. They’d just be fishing in a calm area of the river, not going out to sea.

Over the course of the days leading up to the expedition, George pulled out his own fishing rod from the basement to show Alex the various parts and how to hold it and throw the line properly, so he’d have less to worry about learning on the actual day. He assured him that they wouldn’t have to go get Alex his own rod, as George’s father, Andrew, always brought spares.

“Oh, and it looks like you won’t be the only younger person there,” George noted, reading a text from his brother Laurence a few days prior, while the three lounged in the living room after dinner. “One of Laurie’s girls, Peggy, wants to come too. She’s about your age. She’s been going fishing with Laurie for a while now, he says. That should make it more fun for you.”

“I was wondering about that,” Alex replied.

“About what?” George asked.

“About what the girls – er, women, I guess – in your family do when you guys go fish. Do they just not want to go? Do they, like, not get invited?”

George smiled. “It’s funny you should ask that. Actually, Laurie’s wife, Louise, has a license to hunt invasive nuisance species here in Virginia, and so does our cousin Sarah. There’s a few private lands that have stubborn feral hog populations near where they live, so that’s what they do while we fish. Then we all bring back what we catch at the end of the day, provided it’s all within regulation. We always have to wait on the hogs though, until they can be tested for disease. It kind of becomes a family-wide event.”

“Woah.” Alex paused. “What about you, Martha? Do you not like to fish?” he asked, looking over at her.

“Not particularly,” she shrugged. “I tried it with George a couple times when we were dating. I didn’t have the patience for it. Lots of waiting.”

“Oh.” Alex hadn’t been very good at waiting, for most of his life so far.

“So do you do your own thing?”

“Oh yeah. There’s always something around to do, if you look hard enough. Touring authors or musicians, special deals at the Mall museums, self-defense seminars, you name it. Plus, sometimes it’s just nice to be able to ride my bike around the area with no set schedule or place to be. Take pictures, enjoy the scenery, you know.”

“Huh.”

When the Saturday of the trip finally came, Alex slept through the alarm he’d set and had to be gently woken up by George just before dawn. They hit the road as soon as they were dressed and ready, and got breakfast on the way at a gas station. The sky was completely pink in the East and the sun had crested the tree line when they pulled into the graveled lot by the river bank where they’d meet the other Washingtons. Soon, a blue pickup truck hauling a motorboat behind it pulled in beside them, and its bleary-eyed occupants emerged.

Laurence was leaner than George but close to him in height, and seemed to have a similarly sincere but more relaxed and laid-back demeanor. Peggy turned out to be a petite and excitable girl a year behind him in school. She was friendly to him but didn’t ask excessive questions, which he appreciated. Her bright yellow fishing overalls were frankly adorable, and Alex decided he quite liked Laurence’s tee shirt: it featured an old-fashioned wanted poster, not of a lawbreaker or sharp shooter, but of a fish, suggesting it was ‘the fish that got away.’ 

George and Laurence’s father Andrew was somehow more intimidating than even George had been when Alex first saw him. It was clear where his sons had gotten their height from, and he had something of a burliness to him that neither did. Still, he gave Alex a firm handshake and a smile.

“So, I finally get to meet my new gr-“ George must have been sending him some sort of gesture behind Alex’s back, because the older man cut himself off awkwardly before resuming. “-uh, this famous Alex I’ve heard so much about. Only took, what, three months?” he directed toward George.

“We were letting him get settled in, Pa,” he replied with admirable patience.

“Well, we’re glad to meet you, at any rate,” Andrew told Alex. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty to talk about.”

Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he meant good or bad things, but then they started to unhook the boat and prep the equipment to get underway, so he put it out of his mind. Andrew addressed him as they worked.

“Some rules for the river, young man,” he started seriously. “First, if one of us tells you to throw your catch back, you’d better do so, because no catch is worth an endangered species fine. Second, if one of us tells you to just hand over your rod so we can deal with whatever’s on the other end, it’s in your best interest to do so – and not for reasons of conservation.” Alex got a sudden sense of foreboding from that wording.

“Third, when fishing, all normally prohibited language is permissible. The struggle between man – or woman,” he added with a nod to Peggy, ”- and fish is too intense to hold back. That said, if you start throwing out some seriously questionable phrases, we’re gonna ask questions. And if you should happen to speak disrespectfully to our Peggy or refer to her as Laurence’s ‘fuck trophy,’ we’re all at liberty to kick your ass. Peggy would get first dibs, of course.” The girl in question nodded firmly, while Alex stared in alarmed confusion.

“Oh my god, Pa, no one but Martha’s old Senior Chief calls their kids their fuck trophies,” George groaned, putting a hand over his eyes, while Laurence snorted. “I can’t believe you remember that. Why did she even tell you that story? And Alex is much better-mannered than that, anyway.”

That whole conversation pretty much set the tone for the entire day.

Alex found that he wasn’t as nervous getting into the boat and watching the river bank retreat as he’d worried he’d be. It took a while to get used to the boat’s motion on the water, but the sunny sky and George’s presence kept his nerves at bay.

Much as Martha had described, it took well over an hour for Alex to even get a tug on his line, and the first time turned out to be a false positive in the shape of old shoe caught in the river’s lazy current. They pulled it off the hook and dumped it in the boat’s garbage bin. 

The next time, Alex tried not to get his hopes up, and thus was pleasantly surprised to find a small walleye. He reeled it in and took it off the hook under guidance from George, who was beaming.

“Hell yeah! Your first fish! Congratulations,” Peggy said with a smile.

“Thanks,” he replied, laughing.

In between modest catches here and there, the others exchanged conversation over the course of the morning. 

“I’m assuming Ma and Uncle Chuck are watching little Jackie?” George asked Laurence.

“Yeah. Hopefully they’ll wear him out.”

Alex frowned. “Jackie?”

“My youngest,” Laurence replied, regretfully releasing the small sturgeon he’d caught. “He’s three, so he’s not ready to come out here with us yet. If you’re wondering about why our Uncle Chuck’s watching him with Ma and not here with us, it’s because he’s never liked fishing. Said the eyes and the scales freaked him out when he and Pa were kids.”

“Ah,” Alex nodded. “Fair.”

Things took a turn for the weird as midday approached. Alex had just gotten a tug on his line, the hardest one he’d had yet, and he couldn’t keep the excited grin off his face.

“I got something!” He stood up from the bench seat to get a better view. Behind him, George stood as well.

Whatever was caught on the lure was putting up a fight, and Alex had to quickly take his backup hand off the reel and grab the rod further down from the handle as it bent under the weight of his catch. Jeez, he needed to work on his arm muscles.

Suddenly whatever was on the other end of the line gave a huge tug, pulling him off balance and Alex, who’d been focusing on keeping his grip on his rod, just now realized what could happen. Before he could react, he was being yanked forward and tipping over side of the boat.

“Alex!” George yelled. He dropped his rod and lunged forward without a thought, wrapping his arms around Alex’s waist to keep him from going overboard. Laurence quickly dropped his rod as well, grabbing his brother’s shoulders and leaning back to create counter-weight. Andrew, meanwhile, darted to Alex’s side and wrapped a strong hand around the rod, yanking it up.

The lure came up out of the water, attached to something that was black and ominously-patterned and nearly as long as Alex’s arm, writhing and wriggling, snapping jaws that were lined with tiny but freakishly-sharp looking teeth.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell is that?!” Alex yelled.

“Woah, Alex! You caught yourself a big old snakehead!” Peggy crowed, her own rod still in hand. Alex wasn’t sure if he should be more impressed or disturbed that she wasn’t freaking out like he was. 

Then again, Andrew seemed pretty nonplussed as well. “Woah, lemme get that for you, Alex,” he said calmly. He reeled the monstrous creature in and grabbed it at the gills to get it off the hook, wrapping both hands around it as it continued to struggle. “Die, you Frankenfish fucker,” he muttered to the dripping hell-beast, twisting its neck. Meanwhile, Alex was still being held slightly off his feet with his back pressed to George’s chest, rod still in hand, while George was being held back by Laurence, and Peggy still sat calmly with her own rod.

“What the fuck?” Alex laughed somewhat hysterically.

*******************

After the demon spawn identified as a snakehead had been dealt with, and everyone had calmed down, and they’d eaten a lunch of fruit and protein bars, things went back to what Alex supposed was normal. The men caught a few more small-to-moderately sized fish, and Alex firmly decided he never wanted to get on Peggy’s bad side when he watched her reel in an impressive blue catfish unassisted (“That’s my girl!” Laurence said proudly).

The sun was the firmly in western half of the sky when the men began discussing wrapping up and heading back to the bank. About that time, Alex noticed a large, dark shape in the water upstream. It moved in a way he thought he recognized from a few movies, and that didn’t seem like a good thing.

“Uh, guys?” he said, pointing to the shape. They all looked in the direction he indicated, and went disturbingly quiet.

“Ho-ly shiiit,” Peggy whispered. 

“That’s our cue, people,” Andrew said, suddenly all business. With that, George took Alex’s and Peggy’s rods and laid them in the bottom of the boat with his own, pushing them both down onto the seats. Laurence started the boat’s motor, and Andrew took the helm. Within seconds, they were speeding down the river away from the shape.

As they plowed through the water, Alex looked over at his guardian.

“Um, George? Please tell me that wasn’t what I think it was.” But George only shook his head grimly.

“Alex, I value your trust too much to lie to you. I can almost guarantee it was what you think it was.”

******************

Much later that night, after fish had been cleaned and cooked and consumed and stories told with the exuberance of time and distance, after equipment was packed away and farewells were said, George and Alex arrived back at the farmhouse at Mount Vernon. When they stepped inside and took off their shoes and outer gear, Martha was reading in the living room.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Pretty good,” George replied casually. “Peggy caught a 17-pound catfish, Alex was nearly bested by the snakehead he caught, and we saw what was most likely a bull shark. You know, normal stuff.”

She stared. “Bloody hell,” she muttered. “And you worry when I go on my day trips.” Alex wasn’t sure what she meant by that. But she stood and offered them both hugs anyway, which they gladly accepted. She quickly drew back, though.

“Whew, y’all need showers.” They shared a laugh, and George and Alex started up the stairs.

“So, moments of dubious safety aside, what did you think of today?” George asked hesitantly.

Alex pondered for a moment.

“You know… is it weird that I’m kind of looking forward to going again next year?”

George gave a relieved laugh. “I don’t know about weird. Baffling? Yes, a bit. Surprising? Not in the slightest.”

Alex smiled. For all his baggage and issues, it was nice to be understood sometimes. Nice to be in the same boat (heh) with others. With… maybe family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, survey / poll time: How do you guys think this would do if I changed enough details for it to be considered an original work? (If E L James can get away with it, we should all be able to in theory.) Do you think the premise and characterizations and plot would work well as a contemporary novel or feature-length independent screenplay? Tell me your thoughts.


	15. June II - Ballroom Blitz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex learns something about being a good man from George, and meets some new faces at an unexpected gathering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one feels pretty rough, but I really wanted to get it up and out of the way.

As summer began to start in earnest, Alex found himself in a strange holding pattern. Without schoolwork to occupy his time (besides assigned summer reading), he realized he didn’t have much to structure his days with. He helped out around the house, of course, and continued with the leisure books George and Martha got him, but something was plainly missing.

There was also the matter of his guardians. From the journaling Derek prescribed, Alex came to realize that while he was slowly trusting Martha and George with more of himself (and ooh, there was still a lot he wasn’t ready to unearth), there was a great deal he still didn’t know about them, for all they’d told him. They’d had a whole relationship and combined lifetime of experiences long before he came into the picture, and he couldn’t help but feel… something, about that. He couldn’t figure out if it was lonely, or insecure, or just curious, always hungry for knowledge about his situation.

Summer turned out to be the season of learning, in that regard.

George taught two classes during the summer term, so that his and Martha’s combined income wouldn’t take as much of a hit during those months. Since he no longer had tests to worry about, Alex felt perfectly at ease going back to the college with him a few days out of the week. 

That was how he found himself witness to what happened one Wednesday as they took refuge in the air-conditioned Union for their lunch. They’d been chatting about the extra-curricular clubs Alex was thinking of joining in the fall, when a relatively young red-haired woman in fashionable clothes approached them with her own packed lunch.

“Mind if I sit here?” she asked. Alex found that a bit odd, as the Union was far less populated than during the regular semester and there were plenty of empty tables. Still, George was polite.

“Not at all,” he replied after a moment, and she sat down opposite of him.

Casual conversation revealed that the woman was a PhD candidate from a different college within the university, and this summer was her first time teaching.

“Any advice for a newbie?” she asked, smiling. George tilted his head to the side a bit.

“The summer term will go much faster than you think. Grade and return any assignments as fast as possible so the students can make any improvements necessary on the next ones. Anticipate that they’ll be very unmotivated and probably won’t actually do most of the reading,” he said. She leaned over her food toward him a bit.

“Wow. That’s really good advice! You sound like you have a lot of experience.”

“I have been doing this a while,” he replied, but not boastfully. She smiled again. It gave Alex a curiously on-edge feeling, like when you could smell something unpleasant but couldn’t see the source. He realized that despite George looking sideways apologetically at him a few times, the woman hadn’t addressed Alex once. Like she had an objective in talking specifically to George.

“I bet you’re just chock-full of good pointers,” she mused, inching her hand across the table a bit. “Maybe we could talk about a few more in detail over dinner sometime. What do you think?”

Alex’s mouth fell open. 

He could not believe the gall of this woman. He desperately wanted to quote the “bitch, is you blind?!” video at her.

He waited for George to soundly tell her off, and felt a swoop of nauseating apprehension in his gut when the man was silent.

He wasn’t seriously considering it, was he? He felt his worry spike into a panic, before he looked more closely at George’s face. He was blinking rapidly, his brows furrowed. And as his fingers started tapping rhythmically on the table top, Alex realized that the man was simply stunned, and his mind was trying to process what he’d heard. He imagined that if human thought processes could be visualized the way computer programs were, there would be a “buffering” circle over George’s head.

Finally George took a deep breath, by which point the woman was starting to look concerned. 

“I think that I very much do not want to do that,” George said evenly but firmly, raising his left hand to show his wedding ring more overtly. “And until you’ve defended your thesis and earned your doctorate and established yourself, you probably shouldn’t ask any other professors either. They might get the wrong idea,” he continued. His voice was remarkably calm but left no room for misunderstanding. “Best of luck elsewhere, though.”

Alex, though relieved, didn’t consider that nearly a harsh enough response, and was about to add his own two cents that would have been substantially less civil before George held up a calm hand to stop him. 

She seemed to take the hint anyway, since she quickly nodded and left, taking her things with her.

“You handled that much nicer than I would have,” Alex muttered, watching her retreat.

“I could tell,” George replied wryly, before giving himself a small shake, and turning to give Alex more of his attention. “But it’s good that you recognize that,” he added. “I’ve learned… over many years of observation and unpleasant trial and error, to address and resolve issues at the lowest and least combative level possible. Sometimes it’s not possible, I freely admit. There are some things that can’t be allowed to stand. But when you deal with people more aggressively than necessary, it can come back to bite you in many different ways. Ways that can hurt both professionally and personally.”

Alex nodded, and carefully filed that away mentally for later. He paused.

“You seemed surprised. Like, really surprised. Yeah, she was being pretty oblivious, but… was that the first time anyone else has come on to you since you and Martha got married?”

George blushed a bit. “Maybe not the first time,” he muttered, “but it’s been a while.”

While George certainly didn’t seem to ever reconsider the red-haired woman’s proposition, her interest (and possibly Alex’s question) must have bounced off something in his brain. Alex understood this because of a conversation he had to hear a few days later. 

“Martha, do you think I’m sexy?” George asked idly the following Saturday, as they were making lunch together.

Alex pressed his lips together to prevent an awkward laugh from escaping as his eyebrows rose. He lifted his book slightly to cover his face – not that George seemed to mind Alex’s presence at the table for whatever conversation followed.

Martha looked over at him, surprised. “Babe, where’s this coming from? We’ve been married nine years!”

“I know, but do you still think I’m sexy now?”

Martha smiled, approaching him. She reached for the sides of his waist, slowly to give him time to back away. When he didn’t and nodded permission, she hooked her fingers into his belt loops and pulled his body toward hers.

“Hell yeah, I think you’re sexy.”

“Yes!” George made a cheerful fist pump of celebration. “I think you’re very sexy too, by the way.”

“Good to know,” she replied drily, before planting a welcomed kiss on George’s lips. 

Alex held his book closer to his face, blocking his vision beyond. “Good grief,” he muttered, as the adults shared a short laugh and continued on about their previous business.

A week later, the three were convened in the living room trying to decide what to do with their evening. Restlessness seemed to be the order of the day, as board games and movies had been ruled out, and they were each scrolling through their phones looking for interesting events nearby. Eventually, George perked up from his seat in an armchair.

“Oh, Martha, there’s a discount at the dance club tonight!” Alex lowered his phone, staring at George in surprise. 

Whaaaat?

“Really? Score!” Martha cheered. “We haven’t been to the club in ages!” He turned to look at her, gob smacked. He knew the Washingtons were a tad unconventional, but did they really go out clubbing? 

He also couldn’t help but feel a little hurt; he knew clubs were typically only for those over twenty-one, so that meant he’d get left behind. But then Martha threw him for another loop.

“How about it, Alex? That sound like fun?” 

He sputtered, trying to cover his dismay. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he tried weakly. Seeing her confusion, he tried a different tactic. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to, like, tag along on your date night.”

That only seemed to confuse her more. “It wouldn’t be a date night. At least, not really. Maybe a tiny bit for us, but not in a weird way. And this is a small town. There’s bound to be at least a few more kids your age there; you could meet some new friends.”

Now it was Alex’s turn to be confused. Why would they let underage kids into a club? And for that matter, wouldn’t a dance club be loud and flashy and chaotic and exactly what at least George wasn’t comfortable with? What the heck?

But then, he decided to let all those questions go. He knew Martha and George wouldn’t put him into a dangerous or overbearing situation (ridiculous underwater specimens aside). George had to know what environments he was good or not good in by now; he was a smart guy. And Alex didn’t know what kind of place they could be talking about that would let him in, but he wanted to find out.

“Sure,” he replied, with a small dose of recklessness. “let’s do it.”

“Nice!” Marta said, nodding. “Let’s meet back down here in fifteen minutes. Put on something fun but comfortable!”

************************

The dance club George and Martha were referring to was decidedly not the kind of club that Alex had pictured.

For one thing, the lighting was much calmer. Simple but warm-tone bulb chandeliers hung spaced out from the ceiling, and there were a few wall scone lights as well. The dance floor itself was much larger than he was expecting, as well.

For another thing, the attendees ranged in age from other teens like himself, as Martha said, to those who were very obviously senior citizens, and every age group in between.

Clearly, he was missing something here.

When a man and woman in what he guessed was semi-formal attire went to the middle of the dance floor and called for attention, he was glad he’d get at least some explanation.

“Welcome!” the woman called. “It’s great to see such a big turnout tonight! If you’re a returning member, welcome back. If this is your first time, we’re glad to have you, and always happy to teach new dancers! Tonight’s lesson will be international rumba, and after that will be the open social dancing.”

Ooooooh.

Well, now he felt like an idiot. Obviously this would be, like, proper ballroom and/or Latin-style dancing with actual steps and stuff. He vaguely remembered passing salsa or similar clubs with people dancing like that back in his home town. He’d never participated, though – at his age, he hadn’t exactly had occasion to take in the night life. 

He could handle this… in theory.

The teachers, Evangeline and Julian, asked the attendees to separate into “leads” and “follows:” specifying that women and girls could be leaders if they wanted, and men and boys could be followers in the same vein. A handful of younger people took them up on it, and the two groups went to their assigned sides of the ballroom – Alex readily followed George to the leads’ side. 

Julian led them through a selection of rudimentary rumba steps – the basic, the underarm turn, the New Yorker, the hand-to-hand, and so on -- while Evangeline did the same on the other side with the follows. Intermittently they would come together to demonstrate what a figure looked with both sides, and eventually they told everyone to find a partner from the opposite side to practice with. Alex had rather little faith in his ability thus far, and hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself. Still, he held his head up and pulled his shoulders back, looking for a partner.

His eyes immediately went to a very pretty girl who looked around his age, with curly black hair and medium-brown skin. When he held out a hand to her, she raised an eyebrow and looked at him with a challenging expression, but put her hand in his. 

“You’re new here,” she said by way of greeting. He grimaced.

“Is it that obvious?”

“No,” she replied with a shrug, “it’s just that I haven’t seen you before, and I come here a lot. There’s not much to do on a Saturday night once you’re beyond D.C. At least, not much if you don’t want to risk getting arrested.”

“That’s true,” he agreed, taking her other hand in a vague approximation of a rumba hand-hold. “I’m Alex.”

“Angelica.” 

He tried to lead Angelica in the steps he’d been taught, but it was more accurate to say that Angelica led him. While the style of music played for the dancing was familiar (including a surprising amount of well-known pop songs), Alex wasn’t used to coordinating his feet to it. The rhythm had a fourth beat that felt sort of stretched with hesitation, and it often made him step early on the next set. Angelica was patient with good cheer, though. It turned out that she hadn’t seen him anywhere before because she was a year ahead of him in school. She certainly sounded intelligent, and there was a chance she was aiming even higher than he was in terms of life post-high school. She didn’t specifically say that she wanted to be the first woman President (provided none of her preferred candidates made it first), but he definitely got that impression. 

Eventually, Julian and Evangeline, who had been circulating through the dancers answering questions and offering corrections, called for everyone to switch partners; apparently that was the norm here. Rather than immediately leaving to find another (more skilled) lead, though, Angelica took his hand and led him straight to another girl, this one equally pretty but with straight, inky hair and a bit more petite. When he looked at her in confusion, Angelica clarified.

“Alex, this is my sister, Eliza.” He stood straighter.

“Oh. Nice to meet you,” he said, holding a hand out with a smile.

“You too,” Eliza replied, looking a little bashful. Angelica smiled with satisfaction, and left to find her next partner.

The following round of practice made it clear that Eliza was also more experienced at dancing than Alex was, but unlike Angelica she seemed content to let Alex try to lead. She was bubbly and friendly, and Alex thought she was kind of adorable. As they talked over the steps, he found that she would be a freshman in the fall like him, which made him relieved. He now would have a grand total of two acquaintances in his grade, her and John Laurens. 

Speak of the devil! There was John in another area of the dance floor, except he seemed to be dancing the follower’s part, laughing with a much taller, muscular boy. As the music changed and the teachers called for everyone to switch partners again, Alex smiled and thanked Eliza, and called over.

“John!” he waved. Turning and looking around a moment, the other boy then recognized him, and waved back.

“Alex!” He and his friend made their way through the other couples. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

“This is my first time,” Alex replied, accepting his handshake. “George and Martha invited me along.”

John’s brow furrowed. “George and Martha?”

Oh. Right.

“My, uh, my foster parents,” Alex said, a bit awkwardly.

“Ah, gotchya,” John replied. The fact that Alex was a foster kid didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. “This is Hercules Mulligan,” he added, gesturing to the taller boy. “He’s in our grade.”

Three acquaintances! “Alex Hamilton,” he said, accepting Hercules’ handshake. Seeing the other couples practicing, he realized they were sticking out a bit.

“We should probably…” he gestured vaguely. Getting the hint, Hercules offered a hand to Eliza, bowing like an old-fashioned gentleman.

“May I have this dance, miss?” She giggled.

“Certainly, sir!” The mismatched pair of them joined hands and began practicing, which left Alex and John.

“I’ve been doing the follow part,” John said easily.

“I noticed,” Alex replied. “Well, then I guess…”

He and John joined hands, and it left Alex feeling a bit off-center, but not in a bad way. The feeling left quickly though, as he and John laughed their way through the steps, finding particular hilarity in Alex trying to turn John under his arm when they were so similar in height. Sometimes they would mix up the New Yorker and the hand-to-hand, and end up lightly smacking each other in the face or knocking heads.

He didn’t expect to have so much fun.

Finally, Julian paused the music and announced that the lesson portion of the evening was over, and open dancing would begin. Now there would be music for different dances played as well, and people were free to try out any steps they knew. He, John, Eliza, and Hercules decided to take a break, and they went off to the sides to get drinks from the water coolers, laughing and sweating and slightly out of breath.

“You doing all right, bud?” Martha called over, from where she was helping an elderly man practice a bit more. He sent her a thumbs-up.

Now Alex got to properly observe the other dancers. He noticed the range present not only in age, but in skill. Some couples were happy to move their feet at the right beats in the right direction, and maybe move their arms some. Others were more confident, and added a more noticeably Latin style and attitude: they’d move their hips in figure eight patterns and give their arms bigger motions. He heard the teachers call out cha-chas, jives, and sambas as the songs changed, and Alex honestly had a hard time looking away, it was so fascinating to watch.

That feeling increased tenfold when he caught sight of George and Martha again.

They were clearly one of the more experienced or at least regular pairs; he didn’t have to be a dancing expert to see that. They cut an impressive sight. He noticed that quite a few men and even a couple women were checking Martha out, and the inverse was also true of George, but while they’d accept invitations of other dancers, they only truly had eyes for each other.

For good reason.

While they danced, George and Martha seemed transformed. Alex had long appreciated Martha’s sense of humor, but he realized that it was different from how playful she was now, and more graceful and flirtatious than he’d ever seen before, in her knee-length dress and strappy black heels. And George, he somehow stood taller (a feat in itself), and moved with the sense of strength and command that his quiet and reserved demeanor usually kept beneath the surface. And the dance itself… They were back to rumba, and it practically embodied sensuality, almost to the point of making Alex feel like he was watching something he shouldn’t. 

Honestly, seeing how they were with each other now, he couldn’t help but find it odd that in nine years of marriage they’d managed to never have biological kids of their own. Maybe there were medical reasons behind it… He shook his head. Definitely not thoughts he wanted to be having about his foster parents.

Though, he considered more somberly, if there were medical reasons for them not having kids, that might explain his presence in their lives. Or any foster kid’s, for that matter.

He was drawn out of his musings when the song changed, and Eliza offered to guide him through a jive. He accepted, smiling, and took her hand.

Self-doubt and semi-existential brooding would still be an option tomorrow; tonight he wanted to have fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I especially wanted to give Martha and George a bit of "Gomez and Morticia" flair in this one ;)
> 
> As always, feedback gives me life!


	16. June III - My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex learns more about his guardians, and their perspective on their hometown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really satisfied with this and wanted to include more, but more isn't ready and I wanted to get a chapter up.

Summer learning season continued as June edged into July. Part of this occurred when Alex accompanied Martha to the store to stock up on what they’d need all the way through the fourth of July, a week beforehand.

“No way are we going any later,” she insisted. “It’s going to be more chaos than I can stand.”

“What are we going to be doing on that day?” Alex asked as he buckled himself into the passenger seat.

“Staying home,” she replied firmly. “It’s another ‘drunken morons’ holiday, with the added hazard of short tempers derived from shallow patriotism.” She paused after she turned on the ignition. “Wait, you didn’t make any plans for the fourth with your new friends, did you?” He had told her and George about the Schuyler sisters and Hercules and John, when they’d noticed him hanging out with them at the dance club. He thought calling them friends was maybe a tad premature, but he was cautiously optimistic.

“No, why?” he asked.

“I just wouldn’t want you out in town that day, especially not after dark,” she said, more seriously than usual. “I know we’re pretty much at DC’s back door, but we are still in rural country out here. Especially with how things are… I’m not willing to trust it, safety wise.”

Alex frowned, catching her meaning. He was quiet a moment. “You and George have lived here a while,” he countered cautiously.

“People around here know me and George. And they also know we can take care of ourselves. I don’t want you taking that gamble on your own yet.”

He nodded slowly. “I understand,” he muttered. Martha notice his expression immediately, and deflated.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

He wanted to assure her that she hadn’t, but realized that it wouldn’t quite be the truth. Not knowing how to verbalize what he was feeling, he chose to put it aside for later.

“Can we go get the stuff?”

She hesitated, clearly debating whether to press the issue, but in the end she nodded and put the car in reverse to start down the lane.

“Yeah, let’s go get the stuff.”

************************

Alex realized that whatever Martha’s warning had made him feel, more than anything it had left him with questions. He started with what, to him, was the most obvious.

“What made you guys choose Mount Vernon?” he asked at dinner that night. “To settle down, I mean.” Martha and George looked at each other, slightly surprised, but seemed to take the question seriously.

“Well, we both have family relatively close to here,” Martha began, “probably because we have roots or at least familiarity in the area, more or less. George more, me less. He grew up northwest of here, and I grew up on the northern edge of Richmond.”

“Plus, it’s a good area for work,” George added. “It’s accessible to the city and its opportunities, without being in the thick of it. The quiet out here is nice, to us at least. Not to mention property becomes significantly cheaper on this side. And the commute isn’t usually that bad, as you’ve seen.”

Alex considered for a moment, thinking of his own half-formed wishes for the future.

“But you guys are both really smart; you have, what do they call them, marketable skills or whatever. You seem like you could go anywhere you wanted.”

They both seemed bemused by that, but it turned out to be for different reasons.

“Lots of other people have similarly marketable skills, I’m afraid,” Martha replied dryly. She paused to consider. “Not to mention that moving long-distance is a pain in the ass. Once you find a place that really works for you, you want to hold onto it.”

“And we’ve both been pretty far away in our turn, remember? What makes you think we want to be somewhere else?” George asked curiously.

“Nothing,” Alex backtracked quickly. “It seems like a nice area.” But he couldn’t help but remember Martha’s dour comments earlier, and she could read it in his expression.

“I know I said earlier about being concerned about your safety alone out here, but the truth is everywhere is just somewhere on a spectrum of danger when it comes to people like us,” she said quietly. “There’s nowhere in America you could go to totally escape it – probably not in the world, until society fundamentally changes.”

As disheartening as it was to hear what he’d long suspected, Alex deeply appreciated Martha respecting him enough to be honest.

George, who’d been watching Martha as she spoke, his expression full of solemn agreement, looked over to Alex.

“Where would you want to put down roots, if you could choose anywhere?” he asked. Alex didn’t doubt that he genuinely wanted to know, but wondered if he also wanted to lighten the mood or easy his mind.

“If I could choose anywhere,” he said thoughtfully, “I think I’d want to go to New York City.”

George and Martha’s reactions were comical in their similarity.

“No thanks!” George replied, leaning back in his chair, but not in a judgmental way. Martha, meanwhile, shuddered, making something of a face.

“Nope. You do you, but NYC’s not for us. Too crowded.”

“Too loud,” George added.

“Too expensive!” they concluded simultaneously; Martha snorted and George chuckled. Alex couldn’t quite suppress his own smile.

“Still, if I could afford to, if I could get a good paying job, I’d want to go there. I want to be ‘in the thick of it,’ as you said. Yeah, the politicians all go to DC at some point, but if I’m understanding things correctly, it’s business that controls things, and what place gets more business that New York? It seems like that’s where you have to be if you want to influence anyone. Like you have to be right there in the hub to make anything change.”

Here both the adults became a bit more serious. They looked at him fondly, but not condescendingly.

“I know you’ll help change lots of things,” George said warmly. “And we’ll be cheering you on when you do.”

*******************

When they’d cleaned up and relocated to the living room after dinner (and after he’d recovered from the emotional impact of George’s comment), Alex suddenly remembered a detail from early in their conversation.

“Wait. George, if you grew up northwest of here, and spent those years away in the Army, and Martha was away with the Navy, how did you guys meet at the restaurant in Richmond? Wouldn’t it be pretty small chances you’d both be there at the same time?”

“Pretty small indeed, but lucky none the less,” George replied with a smile. Martha shook her head in exasperation.

“Sap,” she muttered fondly. George winked in response, before continuing.

“It’s actually a bit of a story. I was there with my parents and Laurence as a sort of mini-vacation for the weekend; we were celebrating my acceptance to the Army Academy. I’d never had Vietnamese food before, so we were trying it out.”

“I was there because it was still open when I got through with my job for the night. I worked at a mall, but the food court was closed by the time I got out. I was getting some dinner for my family too,” Martha added.

“And we both got our food to go,” George continued. “My parents wanted to eat in the car before heading back home. But they ended up switching our orders by accident. So both Martha and I end up going back in to get it sorted out at the same time, and we get to talking a bit while they check things. We find out we’re both about to go into the military after graduation.”

“Your dad had to follow you in and badger you to hurry up,” Martha recalled fondly. “But at the end, we exchanged some contact info when we switched our orders back, and decided to try being pen-pals while we were in our respective branches.”

“Whiiiich technically could have been against the rules, since fraternization between officers and enlisted is prohibited. It gets fuzzy when it’s correspondence and you’re in different branches, so we played it safe. I’d send my letters to Martha’s parents and they’d just add them to their own letters to her on the ship, or wherever she was stationed.”

“It was harder to maintain a strong internet signal at sea back then, so ship-to-shore emails were strictly for business,” Martha clarified.

Alex couldn’t help but smile. “That’s kind of sweet. It’s as if the restaurant workers set you up… except, you know, by accident. And then you were really able to get to know each other.”

Martha nodded. “Plus it definitely helped us both, having a confidante who understood at least some of what you’re going through. Some things you didn’t want to write home about, ‘cause you didn’t want the family to worry.”

Alex sobered somewhat. He didn’t really have any experience with that. Anyone who might have worried about what he’d been through was already gone.

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. “So what about when you were done? With your obligations, I mean. Were you still far apart?”

“A bit,” George nodded. “I already had my Bachelor’s degree, but I knew I wanted to teach at the college level, so I’d have to go farther. I went here to UMaryland for my Master’s and PhD. Martha got into Hopkins,” he added with obvious pride. Alex looked over to her in awe.

“Woah.”

“Don’t let him fool you. I was inches away from a nervous breakdown the whole time,” she said ruefully.

“Still,” Alex insisted. He could tell she was touched.

He hoped he could live up to her and George’s levels of accomplishment, even if he didn’t plan on going into either of their fields.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone please tell me how to write something besides dialogue, for pete's sake


	17. July I - God Maybe-Don't-Smite the USA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex's first federal holiday with the extended fam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might go back and revise this later, because I don't know if I conveyed everything I wanted to. Who knows.

The Fourth of July, it turned out, was quite a complicated holiday for Martha and George, and based on what he already knew about them, that wasn’t a total surprise. And like pretty much everything else about their relationship, their observation of it was somewhat unique.

On the one hand, their combined families had something of a tradition of military service, and as a side effect 4th of July get-togethers were just a habit. On the other hand, they and many of their close relatives had more experience with the “American Dream” as minorities than Alex had, by simple virtue of being alive in the country much longer. That, plus George’s extensive knowledge of American history, made the patriotic spirit understandably difficult to achieve and maintain, and as George had somberly pointed out, it had only gotten harder in recent years. Thus, the family get-togethers on the day were more about celebrating their shared survival and thriving than anything else.

All this he came to understand in retrospect. Also in retrospect, he realized that he was lucky he’d had the opportunity to go to the university with George and sit in on his classes, otherwise he might have been overwhelmed by the presence of all the family members that showed up to the farmhouse that day, after living with just two people for three-and-a-half months and not physically attending school.

They arrived mostly in twos and threes starting in the late morning after Alex helped George set up the long folding table, bringing lawn chairs, pot luck dishes, and games with them. First came Andrew and Dorothy (George and Laurence’s mother, who was somehow even more intimidating than her husband had been, even after meeting her previously on the evening of the fishing trip), followed shortly by Martha’s older sister Justine, her partner Amy, and Justine’s son Jim, who was a year older than Alex. After them came Andrew’s younger brother Charles (“Chuck”) and his grown daughter Sarah (the hog-hunting cousin George had mentioned before the fishing trip). Next were Martha and Justine’s mother and step-father, Isabel and Xavier. The last to arrive were Laurence, Louise, Peggy, her twin sister Catherine, and little Jackie. Peggy greeted him with an enthusiastic hug after making sure it was okay (she and the other teens had grown up being aware of George’s, and to a lesser degree Martha’s, sensitivity to being unexpectedly touched). Catherine was more reserved and gave him a cheerful wave, while Jim signaled that he was firmly in male teenage phase with just a short but civil verbal greeting.

Martha must have noticed Alex’s head metaphorically spinning trying to keep up with all the names, faces, and friendly questions about himself and his entrance to George and Martha’s lives, because at one point she took him aside.

“Don’t worry about mixing people up or keeping up with everyone,” she murmured reassuringly. “There’s a lot more of us than you’re used to, and half of us suck at remembering new people anyway. Feel free to step back for a little if you need to.”

He smiled gratefully. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Martha took first shift at the grill that got dragged out of the garage, and she seemed to take minor delight in getting it started. “Burn, baby, burn -- disco infernooo,” she sang under her breath as the flames took hold. 

“Closet pyro,” George muttered affectionately as he passed, hauling a bag of ice to add to the soda cooler. She responded by clacking the grill tongs in his direction a few times with a wink.

The additional family members piled their Tupperware bins and snack bags of culinary offerings onto the table before arranged their chairs in random semi-circles that vaguely faced each other, but most stood and mingled for a while after their respective drives. Since many of George’s side of the family got to see each other recently after the fishing trip, they took the opportunity to interact with Martha’s relatives while they waited for the first round of carnivorous fare to cook. Andrew and Dorothy were well-meaning but a touch behind the times, it seemed, as their conversation with Amy was friendly enough but somewhat awkward and stilted, and she looked positively relieved when Alex side-stepped in to ask about her work, while the elder Washingtons moved on to talk to Martha’s parents.

“Marketing for a non-profit. And yes, it’s almost as dry as it sounds,” she replied wryly. “Thanks, by the way. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad to no longer be the only recent addition to the group.”

“I can get that,” he said. They watched Martha and Justine chat animatedly at the grill for a few moments, often cackling together at what had to be inside jokes and shared childhood references, before being distracted by a pained yelp nearby.

“Ow, no pulling Auntie Sarah’s hair,” the woman grimaced, trying to extract said hair from young Jackie’s surprisingly strong-looking hold without dropping him.

“I should probably pay the rescue forward,” Amy said.

“I’ll be backup,” Alex replied with a determined raised chin, following her to Sarah’s chair to distract the excitable toddler. 

Soon Alex was drawn into the gathering of the other teens. Having been firmly asked to not spend the majority of the evening on their phones, the four took to tossing a Frisbee around the meadow a safe distance from the table and grill. He tried to ignore the slight burning in his face every time it sailed over his head and past his fingertips; apparently, he joined the White People in not being able to jump high. Then again, Catherine seemed to share his low level of athletic prowess, so he followed her example of laughing off Peggy’s gentle ribbing. Jim made the game more interesting by suggesting they each pair their toss with a random useless fact, the weirder the better, which Alex could get behind.

Eventually Laurence called them back, and he helped Martha distribute the grilled food. Everyone gathered their preference of main dish and samples from the diverse spread of sides before taking seats in chairs or on a picnic blanket on the ground. When everyone was situated, rather than insisting on saying Grace as some might have expected, George and Martha led a simple two-part toast.

“To all of our family who have passed on this year – both blood and beyond,” George said.

“To the brighter year the rest of us will build to honor them,” Martha added.

Alex raised his cup of soda a half-second behind the rest of the group, in a mix of surprise and contemplation. He wondered how many people Martha and George silently included in the ‘beyond blood’ segment.

Conversation lulled slightly as everyone dug into their food. In addition to the “typical” fare like burgers, hot dogs, chips, corn, fruit, and various forms of salad, there was also pulled pork barbeque, rice, beans, macaroni and cheese, and Cuban mojo chicken and potatoes. He was hit by a sudden pang of a mix of homesickness and fondness when he realized that someone had brought Puerto Rican sweet cornbread, and resolved to figure out who so he could thank them.

Before long, Chuck took over at the grill so there would be seconds / leftovers available and so no one would have to contend with raw meat on return trips, and Xavier offered assistance and casual conversation. Meanwhile, the others had brought out the supply of games, and Sarah challenged Martha and Laurence to a game of Twister, which was eagerly accepted and the results were hilarious (Amy had possession of the spinner). All three adults ended up collapsing on each other at roughly the same time, each grumbling about being too old for the game but immediately demanding a rematch.

Meanwhile, Alex and the other teens cleared space away on the table and started a game of Jenga which, of course, got progressively more intense, and Isabel and Dorothy faced off in a few traditional card games (Alex tried to repress his laughter when he heard Isabel swearing in Spanish when Dorothy repeatedly beat her in Jacks). He privately thought they seemed like a stern pair of differently-patterned big predator cats.

The most cutthroat game, however, was in the tight circle of chairs with a folding stool in the middle to act as a tabletop for a round of Uno. Louise, Andrew, and Justine were battling for dominance while George watched in amusement and kept Jackie distracted. When Andrew hit Louise with a ‘draw four’ immediately followed by a direction reverse, she stared at him coldly.

“Fuu—uh, Foust you!” she switched verbal courses at the last second, aware of all the young ears around (Martha tried to keep her language G-rated around so many kids too).

“’Foust me’?” Andrew echoed, eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” she replied firmly. “You deserved to have your soul bought by Satan for that move.”

“If I do deserve to have my soul bought, it would be for other things besides that move,” he responded dryly. 

Alex and the others, overhearing the game from their spots around the increasingly unstable Jenga tower, laughed.

Sometime later, after the myriad of desserts had been opened, Alex realized that the holiday also revealed one of the contrasts between Martha and George: the fireworks. It turned out George disliked them because of their tendency to set off sensory overload, while Martha greatly enjoyed them, if she could view them away from the crowds. The farmhouse ended up as an accidental middle section in their personal Venn diagram, since it was close to the river and had a great view of the show, but also had a mostly finished basement that blocked both the lights and most of the noise. 

Surprisingly (or perhaps not), a few others weren’t keen on the fireworks either. Andrew (Jackie in tow), Xavier, Catherine, and Justine took their dessert plates and made to follow George into the house, while the others took theirs and started around to the back of the house where the view would be the best. This did, unfortunately, put Alex into a bit of a pickle, as he didn’t know which group to go with. 

Eventually he decided he could start with one group and switch to the other part-way through the fireworks. With this in mind, he randomly chose to go with the basement group first, and hurried to catch up.

The basement contained an older sofa and mismatched selection of chairs that George and Martha had apparently bought when they first moved in together. Everyone took a seat, and broke into their own more subdued conversations. Curiously, while Justine was asking Catherine how she was doing in school, she was also pulling out from her purse a selection of temporary tattoos for the teen girl to choose from; apparently they had a previously established agreement about it. This turned out to be less random than he thought; when he asked, Justine told him how she co-owned and operated a successful tattoo parlor near Norfolk, and Catherine was determined to get a tattoo from Justine when she was old enough (Alex could now see more familial similarity between Martha and Justine). 

Meanwhile, Andrew and Xavier were talking about what sounded like a variety of Older Guy Stuff – military experiences, the government, fishing, trucks, etc. Andrew had passed Jackie back to George, and he seemed quite content to hold the little boy and keep him occupied. He held Jackie on his lap while flipping through a picture book Laurence and Louise must have brought along, reading the simple narrative out loud and including various character voices. When a particular voice would make the little boy giggle in delight, George would lean down and plant a kiss on his round cheek before continuing, holding him a little closer.

Alex couldn’t seem to look away.

And as he watched his guardian cuddle and read to that little boy, his thoughts from that night at the dance studio suddenly jumped back to the front of his mind. And once they were there, they pushed out everything else.

When he abruptly stood and headed to the stairs, George looked up.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Alex assured just a bit too quickly. “Just want to join the others and catch the rest of the show.”

He didn’t notice Justine’s eyes follow him as he climbed the basement stairs.

******************************

When he stepped outside, the back yard was bathed in multi-colored light, each burst accompanied by a boom that he could feel deep in his chest. The impact felt appropriate for his thoughts.

It wasn’t until he got close to the others that Martha heard his approach. When she turned and saw him, she held a tentative arm out with a smile, beckoning him closer. He stood at her side and let her put her arm around his shoulders, telling himself it wasn’t a hollow gesture. Not entirely believing it.

The fireworks were a pretty distraction though, so he quietly let the light and the sound wash over him.

******************************

When the fireworks concluded with a rapid, impressive final volley, Martha went inside to fetch the basement group. Their return seemed to be the vague unspoken signal that the evening was wrapping up and it was socially acceptable for the guests to begin packing to go home. He didn’t think anything of it when Justine asked him for a hand taking their items to their car while Laurence collected the kids. Didn’t think anything of it, that is, until she started speaking in a low voice.

“I noticed you made a hasty exit during the fireworks, namely, after watching George with Jackie. Something bothering you?”

The two sisters had freakishly good observational skills, Alex thought ruefully.

“Why would there be?” he responded, just a touch too flippantly.

“Because most new people who meet him and Martha wonder why they don’t have any biological kids after being married close to a decade,” she answered simply. “Some have even outright asked them. And I’m guessing you have more of a vested interest in the topic than the average person.”

“Okay, yeah, full points,” Alex said a bit sharper than he intended, pushing a lid closed with a bit more force than necessary. “George does seem really happy to be around little kids like Jackie. He seems great with him. What’s the missing part of the equation?”

She looked squarely at him even while continuing to clean up.

“There’s actually a couple parts of the ‘equation’ you haven’t considered. The first is that Jackie, from what I’ve seen, is pretty calm for a three-year-old, and when he’s not, George and Martha can easily hand him back to his parents. They can handle little kids in small doses; that doesn’t account for weeks and months of intermittent screaming, lost sleep, colic, diapers, etc. Especially with their respective sensory limits. And they both freely admitted it, a long time ago. There’s no shame in that.”

Alex silently took time to process that.

“That’s part of why they’ve never even tried to have biological kids of their own.”

He looked up, still surprised. “They haven’t?”

She shook her head. “Nope. And neither of them are sterile, as far as I know, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Alex blushed, looking at his shoes and rubbing the back of his neck.

“I guess that was what I was wondering, sort of.”

“I figured. And trust me when I say that if they had tried, Martha would tell me; we’ve always been able to confide in each other. Which reminds me of the second part of the equation you forgot: whether Martha would ever want to have a baby. Even from the time we were kids she always knew she didn’t want to get pregnant and have kids the ‘typical' way,” Justine said, clarifying her meaning with air quotes. “Said she wouldn’t want to add to the world population for what would probably be the wrong reasons. From what I know that hasn’t changed, and George isn’t the kind of man who’d ever try to pressure her into changing her mind. They made sure to discuss it when they got engaged.”

“Oh.” Alex wasn’t sure how to process that. Meanwhile, Justine had paused gathering the leftovers, and was looking intently at him in a knowing way.

“You’re not some consolation prize for them, Alex, and certainly not the second best option. I know Martha especially may not seem like it at first, but she and George are both very private and introverted people. If they chose to share themselves and their lives with you, it was for a damn good reason. And it certainly wouldn’t be out of pity or to fill some place of a bio kid.”

Alex was relatively sure that when he thought about Justine’s words later, they would make him feel a lot better. But right now, the personal weight of the conversation and its emotional resonance felt like a heavy stone sitting in his chest, and he wanted to retreat and take refuge in a dark, quiet place.

Justine could probably see it in his face (she had a teenager too), because she broke eye contact and resumed packing away the food. “Just consider all that for a little bit. If you’re still unsure or it still worries you, you can always just talk to them about it.”

He nodded silently, and finished helping load the bins into the car as quickly as possible.

Eventually everyone’s leftovers and chairs and games were loaded into their respective cars, the last cans of soda were emptied, handshakes and hugs (and social media contacts) were exchanged, and the driveway was vacated as the individual family branches trickled away back to their homes. The three remaining stood outside for a while, taking in the sudden quiet and solitude of the balmy summer night surrounding the farmhouse. 

Cleaning the grill and loading the dishwasher and taking out the garbage could wait a little while…

So could a boy’s worries about his place in a small family and the reasons behind it.

For now, they stayed silently together peacefully, a tiny island of companionship in the broad sea of the dark countryside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now you probably understand the delay on this chapter. Do yourselves a favor and don't write family reunion / holiday picnic sequences, friends. So. Many. Characters. And they can't all get equal page time.
> 
> The Cuban and Puerto Rican foods mentioned are courtesy of Pinterest searches.
> 
> As always, feedback is lovely!


	18. July II - (Not So) Cheap Thrills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex approaches a rough time of year, and different parties notice some changes in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to post as all one chapter, but the rest isn't ready yet and I'm inpatient (story of my life).

Summer progressed and the sunlight got stronger, and so Alex could dimly appreciate the irony of his thoughts growing darker.

He had some unpleasant anniversaries approaching, and he really didn’t have any idea of how he would deal with them. His sessions with Derek were helping, it was true, but there was a difference between not viscerally reliving a horrible thing, and not being painfully aware of it having happened. 

He woke on more mornings to questions that weighed deep in his gut; questions like, what would she have been doing on a nice day like today? What would the upcoming high school be like if he’d never left (and if the school building hadn’t been destroyed)? 

If the typhoid had come through at a different time, could they have afforded the treatment? Or would their places have been reversed?

If he’d been able to contact He-Who-May-As-Well-Be-Nameless, would he have come back? Was he even still alive? 

Would it have made any difference?

Because of this, he got quieter and talked less; he didn’t want to give voice to any of his questions, and he refused to risk snapping at George and Martha over the sort of dumb little shit that he was self-aware enough to suspect would probably set him off. He had literally nothing to complain about with them; it wasn’t their fault he could feel that inexplicable something creep back in – the clinking of utensils against plates being somehow more ear-piercing than normal, the enjoyment being slowly sapped out of reading the books he had more trouble focusing on anyway, the way it was that much harder to convince himself to get out of bed some mornings. They noticed, though, he could tell, but they weren’t sure how serious it was or what to do. He didn’t want to be dishonest with them by omission or denial, but he didn’t want to let all those writhing, disgusting worms out of the can in his mind. He got better at half-truths and deflection as a compromise.

Some of his classmates back in Richmond had told him he should talk less. Ironically, it was only at this time of year that doing so became easy.

All of this resulted in him feeling a convoluted sort of interest as the middle of July passed, when he accidentally overhead what was probably meant to be a private conversation.

Martha and George had gone out to the yard equipped with gloves and gardening tools, in order to seek out and dispose of any poison ivy or poison oak that may have sprung up. He noticed, though, from the window by his desk that they didn’t seem to go very far; they seemed more focused on talking than on plant-hunting.

They also didn’t appear to notice that his window was open.

“I think maybe it’s not a good idea this year,” Martha was saying. 

“You’ve been looking forward to it since October,” George replied.

“Yes, but things have changed since then. We chose to change things; different priorities. You’ve seen how quiet he’s gotten; something’s up. Maybe he’s discussing whatever it is with Dr. Jackson, maybe he’s not. Either way, now doesn’t seem like the time for me to be gallivanting off into the hills.”

Alex frowned. He didn’t like the sound of this, for more reasons than one.

Though, it did click something into place. Thinking back, he had dimly noticed Martha spending a bit more time online a couple weeks ago, and on the phone a few times, about stuff that didn’t sound like she was talking to her relatives. But she hadn’t seemed to be secretive, more like excited. At the same time, he’d noticed George getting a bit more tense – dare he say, worried. 

Then he’d started to feel worse, and it hadn’t taken them long to notice.

So, there was something Martha had been planning, something she’d been looking forward to (something that was away from the two of them), that she wanted to cancel now because he clearly wasn’t handling his baggage well, and she and George were noticing. Which, yes, made him feel all kinds of worse, but he forced a deep, slow breath and painstakingly reminded himself of their shared advice against making assumptions. 

He looked back out the window. While he’d been thinking (brooding), they’d finally walked further out into the yard, and he could no longer hear them. Pondering that, he decided he could handle voicing his new questions.

He did so, the next morning when he and George were eating breakfast, after Martha had gone to work.

“What’s going on? With Martha, I mean.”

George blinked, slowly lowering his fork to rest it on his plate. He sighed.

“You heard that, huh?” Alex shrugged.

“I heard some of it. I’ve seen enough movies to know better than to assume I heard all of it. Is there something I need to know?” George seemed to ponder his reply for a while.

“Don’t you want to ask her about it?” he eventually asked. Alex thought it was rather a stalling sort of question.

“I could,” he retorted. “But I’m just following the precedent of talking about people instead of to them.” A moment of silence followed that, occupied by Alex both feeling proud of the comeback and hating himself a bit for it. His shoulders involuntarily tightened in anxiety.

“Touché,” George replied quietly. He shook his head – from what emotion, Alex wasn’t sure. “Though in our defense, it was out of concern, which I do absolutely want us to address. …But you asked first, so I’ll answer your question first.” He sighed, before drawing in another fortifying breath. “Martha just has this thing… you know how my side of the family has its yearly fishing trip?”

“Hard to forget,” Alex said with another shrug.

“Well, Martha has something similar, except she goes alone. Every year she saves up some money from a few overtime shifts and goes on a day-trip. Does something out in nature. She says it’s her annual ‘emotional recharge adventure.’ You know, solitude out in the wild.”

Alex nodded. He thought he could understand the appeal, in an abstract sense. He wondered if something similar might help lift him out of his current emotional trench.

“That sounds cool… but you’ve been looking kind of worried about it lately. What’s worrying about these day-trips?” George sighed.

“It’s really just me being paranoid. But every year what she picks is kind of… intense. More intense than I want to get involved with.”

Alex frowned. “Intense how?”

“Sometimes it’s just hiking, you know, over in the Blue Ridge. Though she usually exercises and trains more for that to build up her endurance. But even that has a few more hazards than we usually meet in the boat. Sometimes it’s higher-risk that that. One year she saved up enough to go hang gliding – at least that was with a guide. That was one of the few times I let Laurie persuade me to drink.”

Alex blinked. “Woah.”

“Yeah,” George nodded. “The woman’s a bit of an adrenaline junkie, to put it simply. Always has been, if stories from her family are anything to go by. And as much as we love spending time together, every healthy couple needs time apart. These adventures she goes on get two birds with one stone.” 

The teen took a moment to process that. “So, what’s she planning on doing this year?”

George sat back in his chair with another sigh. “White-water kayaking.” Alex stared.

“Dang, that’s pretty hard core.”

“’Hard core’ is right. But at least she’s following behind a guide again; she’s not experienced enough to go completely solo. I’m grateful for that.” Alex frowned again.

“You really worry about her,” he said, not as a question but as an observation.

“Of course. I love her,” George said, as simply as one would say that the sun rose in the East. “and even if it’s not a high from booze or drugs that she chases, it’s still a high, and one that always comes with substantial risks. But she’s an adult just like me, and she enjoys it so much, it wouldn’t be fair of me to try to persuade her to stop. And she always comes back in one piece, so it’s not like she’s careless or doesn’t take the right precautions.”

Alex turned that over in his head for a while. “So it’s every year, her own tradition. It’s not…” he trailed off.

“Not what?” George asked gently.

“It’s not her trying to get away from us?” The ‘from me’ went unspoken but understood nonetheless. George smiled sadly.

“No, Alex. She’s never given any indication of that, and I’ve never believed it.”

The teen let out a relieved sigh. “That’s good.”

“But if that’s a concern for you, you should tell her.” But Alex immediately shook his head.

“No, come on, I don’t wanna be clingy,” he insisted, his face expressing his distaste for the very idea (which he thought was to be expected).

George, however, was dismayed. “So-- Alex… a fourteen-year-old having a very understandable fear of abandonment isn’t remotely the same as being ‘clingy.’”

Alex looked down at his plate, avoiding George’s compassionate gaze. “That’s a bit… unfairly insightful,” he grumbled. This freaking family. He had a sudden, silly mental image of them all being secretly descended from that sci-fi alien race that could sense other people’s emotions.

George took it in stride, but didn’t press that specific matter. “Well, if you want to bring it up when the three of us talk tonight, or not, that’s your prerogative.” Alex deflated in his seat a bit.

“Oh. So you remembered that.”

“Sure did. Whether you want to talk about it with me now and Martha later, or the both of us at once, is your choice. But Martha and I really do want you to talk to us about whatever’s bothering you.”

Alex sighed again. “Both of you at once, I guess.” He paused while George nodded. “But… what if there wasn’t anything really bothering me? Or if I were just in a bad mood for no reason I could figure out? What if it was like, normal teenage angst or whatever?”

Georg tilted his head to the side. “I’d like to think we’d still want you to tell us. Just so we’d know, and so you’d know we’re still here for you even for the little things. I still remember my own teenage angst, for what it’s worth. We could at least, I don’t know, complain about bullies together or something. You could laugh at the music I listened to when I was your age.”

Alex gave a short laugh, despite himself. “If I ever feel the garden-variety angst incoming, I’ll ask you to break out the vinyl then.”

“Excuse me, I’m not that old, thank you very much. It would be the cutting-edge cassettes that got eventually burned onto CDs, for your information.” Alex was grateful that he could have heard the mirth in George’s voice even if he hadn’t been looking. He thought of what else they could say to keep up the lighter mood.

“So I guess it’s you and me that day, huh? When Martha does her trip?”

“Yep, you and me. If she decides to still go.”

“I don’t want her to skip her tradition because of me! It’s really nothing to worry about, I’ll convince her. What should we do, that day?”

George didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it go on faith that it would be discussed soon enough. He looked away a moment, as if he was suddenly nervous or embarrassed about something. “The past few years I’ve been petting the animals at the local shelter to take my mind off it.”

Alex stared.

“That… actually sounds awesome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the second part of this section will be up soon and will definitely include stuff actually happening besides conversation.


	19. July III - Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex finally opens up about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, but the next one should be up in the next day or so, I promise.

After his talk with George, Alex excused himself and returned to his room, thinking hard.  He had no idea how he would handle the approaching conversation, and part of him still wished he could get out of it.  But… it wouldn’t make him feel better in the long run, and the Washingtons only wanted to help him.

 

He sat at his desk, his chin in his hands.  His brain remained stubbornly silent and refused to offer any solutions for several minutes, until his eyes fell on his journal. 

 

Last week, Derek told him that when necessary, it was alright to write about his experiences and his feeling in third person, to help get a better perspective – as long as he didn’t let himself stay distanced from his memories for too long.  So, taking a deep breath, he pulled the journal to him and opened it to a blank page.

 

********************

 

George must have messaged Martha that Alex was ready to talk, because around the time she would be getting out of work, he called Alex out of his room to ask if he wanted Martha to pick up pizza on her way home.  They normally didn’t get takeout or fast food until the weekends… they must want dinner to be simple and easy.

 

“Sure,” he answered. 

 

And so Martha came home bearing the tempting pizza, the smell of which bolstered his for-once negligible appetite.  He greeted her warmly, and they seemed to let him set the tone of conversation as they ate, focusing on work-related matters and his summer reading.  He thought they could tell he had a plan for how he wanted to address his elephant in the room.

 

By the time the pizza was finished, he didn’t want to put it off any longer.

 

“Give me a minute, please,” he said quietly.  “There’s something I need to get.”

 

They nodded, and he went upstairs to retrieve his journal, steeling himself all the while.  When he returned, they were waiting for him in the living room.  He chose one of the chairs, and they sat on the couch to face him.  When they saw him rest his journal on his knees and open it to the right page, Martha blanched.

 

“Alex, you don’t have to—your journal is meant just for you…”

 

“I want to,” he insisted.  “I’ve been avoiding it, but it’s necessary.”  He paused.  “But I have to talk about it in a way that might seem weird.”

 

They nodded silently, and he let their support steady him.  He took a deep breath, looked down at the page, and began to read.

 

“Alex has difficulty with the later parts of summer.  He experienced a lot of events in that time that he’s had a lot of trouble coping with.  One of which you already know about, that he was still on the island when the hurricane hit, and he was there for some of the fallout too.  But before that, there were…”  He wavered, before pressing on.  “There were other things.”

 

He took another fortifying breath.  “Alex’s mother’s name was Rachel Foucette.  In early August 2017, she caught Typhoid fever.”  He ignored the sharp inhale he heard from the couch, not looking up.  “There had been an outbreak, and the hospitals were even more swamped than normal.  And because she was working through a temp agency at the time, we-“  He stuttered, clearing his throat.  “ _They_ didn’t have health insurance.  They had to make do with non-prescription medication.  Before she became critical, I— _Alex_ tried to get in touch with his biological father for assistance, with the last known phone number he had.  It was… useless.  He never heard back.  By the time Rachel was in the last stages of the illness… Alex had caught the early ones.” 

 

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw George cover his mouth with a hand.

 

“He had to ask a neighbor to drive them to a hospital, and they had to wait in the emergency room for her to be treated.”  By now he was sniffing, and fighting to speak around a lump in his throat.  _Stick to the facts_.  “At one point while they waited, he passed out from the fever worsening.  When he woke up—“ he dragged in a shaking breath.  “When he woke up, they told him she had already passed.”

 

“Fuck,” Martha whispered.  Alex thought it was an appropriate response for what he’d been feeling.  He paused to grab a tissue from the box on the coffee table.  When he’d wiped his eyes and blown his nose, he looked back down and turned the page.

 

“Alex lived with a neighbor for a time.  Then in September, Hurricane Maria happened, which you know the basics of.”  He felt himself rushing through this section.  “In the aftermath, Alex was sent to live with his cousin; that was how he came to the states.  But his cousin, Peter, was also struggling.  He’d lost family recently too, and was upset about Alex’s father disappearing, and he’d fallen in with some of the wrong people – people who got him into drugs.”

 

“Shit.” George this time, able to guess accurately.  Alex forged ahead, speaking faster.

 

“In February, Peter overdosed on heroin.  He didn’t die, but he came close, and needed immediate treatment.  The landlady stopped Alex from seeing him when he was passed out in his own vomit.”

 

“Alex-“ Martha began, sounding horrified, but he ignored it and pushed on.  He’d get through this no matter what.

 

“Peter couldn’t take care of Alex while he was in treatment, and he knew it would take a long time to get and stay clean.  He relinquished his guardianship of Alex to the state, permanently.  Alex hasn’t heard from him since last September.”

 

He stopped, and at long last looked up, taking one more deep breath.

 

“That’s how I wound up in the Richmond foster system.  Now you know, why I’ve been more off the closer we get to next month.”

 

Both George and Martha’s eyes were wet and their faces drawn, and the Alex of four months ago might have angrily interpreted their expressions as pity.

 

He knew better now.

 

“Thank you for telling us, Alex,” Martha said quietly.  “I hope now we can work with Derek and help you more.”  He nodded, having wrung himself dry of words. 

 

George said nothing, he simply held out a beckoning arm.  Alex sat a moment, distantly pondering what he wanted, and what Mamá would have wanted for him.

 

Eventually he pushed himself up from the chair, leaving the journal behind.  He sat between his guardians, and accepted their embrace.

 

************************

 

After the conversation died down, Alex was wrung out and drained, but he also felt purged, in a way.  He’d been carrying this grief around silently for so long, and he knew all too well that it wasn’t gone; it never would be completely.  But it felt a little less heavy now.

 

George asked what he wanted to do for the rest of the evening, and he absently suggested a movie, something light.  Martha made the selection, and a story within a story began – a film older than him, surely, though that wasn’t difficult.  The simple, fluffy romance was cut short by the report of a death, and Alex stiffened, wondering how this was Martha’s idea of ‘light.’ 

 

His tension didn’t go unnoticed.  “It’s okay, just wait,” Martha murmured.

 

An arranged betrothal followed, as well as a kidnapping of the princess by a rather inept group of criminals, and the appearance of a plainly familiar pirate (which explained Martha’s reassurance).  Sword fights, tussles, poison, giant rats and fire spouts…  He soon relaxed as he followed the story.  But the more he watched and the more he relaxed in between bouts of light laughter, the more tired he felt, and he found his eyelids drooping.

 

“You can lie down, if you want,” one of them whispered.  He shook his head stubbornly.

 

“I don’t want to go to sleep.”  They must have heard the sadness clinging to his fatigue, because a gentle hand landed on his shoulder.

 

“Neither of us are going anywhere.  You’re safe.”

 

In the vulnerability of his state, he couldn’t help but believe them.  So, around the time the princess gave herself up to save her love, he let himself fall.

 

He woke up with his head pillowed on Martha’s thigh, just long enough to watch the Spanish swordsman avenge his father’s murder, and the heroes escape on four white horses.  It was nice to see.

 

When he briefly woke up again tucked into his own bed, he didn’t have to question how he got there, and he let sleep reclaim him with a deep feeling of peace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really happy with it, but I don't know what else to do to it.
> 
> If there's anything egregiously wrong about the Puerto Rican healthcare / insurance setup I've said here, just let me know and I'll see what I can do.


	20. July IV - Born to Be Mild-to-Moderately Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some new experiences for Alex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's rough and probably needs some editing, but what are ya gonna do. I'm impatient.

A few days after Alex had described his past to the Washingtons – and after he’d had another session with Derek, and the adults had their own conversation with the therapist – Martha approached Alex after lunch.  It was Sunday, and the sky out the window was layered with giant paint-like brush strokes of clouds, but not those that signaled rain.

 

“Alex, I wanted to ask you something,” she said, uncharacteristically nervous.

 

“Go for it,” he replied.

 

“I wasn’t sure if it was the right time, with all these painful anniversaries coming up for you…”

 

He frowned, and she rushed to continue.

 

“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to, um, bribe you into cheering up, or trying to make you forget about what happened – that’s really not what I’m aiming for-“

 

“Um, Martha,” he cut in cautiously, holding up a finger, “what are you talking about?”  She blinked.

 

“Oh!”  She seemed to realized her point would be better made through action.  “Uh…”

 

She pulled her hands out from behind her back, revealing an unfamiliar motorcycle helmet.

 

He stared.  “No way.”

 

“Er, yeah way?”  She said it with more of a question’s inflection. 

 

“How did you know what size I need?” he asked.

 

“Well, at your age it’s technically the adult size, just lined with thicker padding that can be detached and replaced as you grow.  You like it?”

 

The helmet was black, a full-face type, with a green dragon painted across the top.

 

“I really do,” he said, accepting it from her with a smile.  “It’s awesome!”

 

‘I’m glad,” she replied, her relief plain.  “You wanna go for a ride, then?”

 

He paused. 

 

He thought about what she said she wasn’t trying to do – and it wasn’t as though he thought she would lie about it, but it did bear considering:  he did want to be distracted in that moment, and he couldn’t help but feel guilt about wanting it.

 

He felt weird about accepting this from Martha, when Mamá was gone, and had suffered so much before she went.

 

But Martha wanted to share this with him, something she enjoyed…

 

He nodded firmly.  “Let’s go.”

 

**************************

 

Martha had told him that she deliberately chose a bike with a quieter engine, but sitting on the passenger seat behind her, he couldn’t tell the difference, even through his helmet.  It was a roar he could not only hear, but feel vibrating through him.

 

It was the kind of intense that edged almost up to being overwhelming, without crossing the line.  The Virginia landscape seemed to go by faster than when in a car; the trees and the road signs looked bigger and closer, the hills and bends in the road felt more pronounced.  There were times when gravity felt stronger, and times when it felt like they could fly.

 

And somehow through all of it, he never felt like he was at risk.  Martha handled the motorcycle like he imaging a skilled rider would control a big, powerful horse: with deftness, grace, and the calm of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.  She never let their speed get too high, she slowed and accelerated smoothly, and leaned with the bike to go around corners.  It reminded him that she was the kind of person who would tase anyone who made themselves into a physical threat without hesitation.

 

And if he’d wanted a distraction, he’d gotten one.  The roaring and the vibrations, the road rushing underneath them, the wind pulling at his clothes, they pushed all other thoughts away.  It was exhilarating and yet somehow calming at the same time, like his mind had been cut free of the stones weighing on him.

 

He thought he could understand why she liked this so much.

 

It felt like hardly any time at all had passed when Martha signaled and pulled onto the shoulder of an empty road.  She cut the engine and pushed down the kickstand, and tapped his arm to let him know he could let go of her and get up for a moment.  She unbuckled and removed her helmet as she swung her leg over, and he followed suite. 

 

It was just past the height of summer, so even though they were well into the evening, the sun was only just now setting, and boy, did she pick the place to see it.  They’d stopped on something of a ridge, overlooking a broad, shallow valley of woods edged by late summer wildflowers.  They layers of clouds that had been previously gray were now burning gold, red, and pink-violet. 

 

“Daaamn,” he whispered.

 

“I’ll second that,” she replied.  They shared the beauty before them in silence for several minutes.

 

Finally, he looked to her.  “Thank you for this, Martha.”

 

She mirrored him, her face brightened by the warmth of the sky.  “You’re welcome, bud.  Any time.  Barring dangerous conditions, of course.”

 

He considered for a moment, before saying what he’d meant to say before.  “You shouldn’t cancel your kayaking trip because of me.”

 

She turned to face him squarely, staring.  “How did you-?  Never mind.  Your health is more important, Alex.”

 

“But you know what’s wrong now; you know it’s not… I don’t know, critical.”

 

“I should be the one looking out for you; you shouldn’t have to emotionally triage yourself for my benefit.  Old wounds can do their own kind of damage, kiddo.”

 

“You do - look out for me, I mean - and I know,” he said, “believe me, I know.  But… life has to go on, doesn’t it?”

 

She sighed.  “Yes, your life.  But sometimes people misinterpret that idea to mean they should ignore their trauma instead of coping with it.”

 

“But I’m not ignoring it, am I?” he insisted.  “I’m working with Derek, and talking to you two now, and doing my journaling.”

 

She paused.  “That’s true…” she admitted, still not convinced.  He pressed on.

 

“Like I said before, this stuff isn’t going anywhere, so one day while you do your emotional recharge adventure shouldn’t be a problem.  I’ll have George, and the animals at the shelter he goes to.  You guys have done so much for me; you should get to keep your tradition.  Trust me.  It’ll be fine.”

 

She looked at him intently for several moments, looking for what he didn’t know, before cautiously nodding.

 

“Alright.  I’ll trust you.”

 

They shook on it, bathed in the colored light from the Western sky.

 

**********************

 

Saturday morning, Martha turned off her alarm and lifted her side of the covers much earlier than normal, though she’d set out everything she needed the previous night.  Before she stood to get dressed, George rolled to face her, drowsily catching her hand.

 

“Be careful,” he murmured, giving a gentle squeeze.  She squeezed in return and raised his hand.

 

“I’m always careful,” she replied, before pressing his knuckles to her lips.  “I should be done no later than five.”  Then, as quietly as a light wind, she was dressed and on her way.

 

*************************

 

Alex woke up at his bladder’s insistence, and he didn’t know or particularly care what time it was.  He got an approximate idea of the time, however, when he returned from the bathroom to find a sticky note attached to his door bearing a message:

 

‘ _The mountains are calling and I must go.’  Or however the phrase goes ;)  Enjoy the critters with George today, and I’ll see you this evening.  Wish me fun rapids!_

_Hug + noogie,_

_Martha_

He smiled, and pulled the note from the wood before going into his room to set it carefully on his desk.

 

When he went downstairs, George was there mixing pancake batter, while eggs and bacon were already sizzling away in a skillet.

 

“Stress cooking?” Alex guessed out loud; George turned at the sound.

 

“Morning.  Me, stressed?  Never,” he replied with clear but good-natured sarcasm.  Alex stepped up to the stove, watching the contents of the pan.  He frowned.

 

“Will it really be that bad?” he asked.

 

“Probably not,” George admitted.  “The more intense rapids are over in West Virginia; I’m just making mountains out of molehills.  You can probably guess one of the reasons I didn’t make my commission into a life-long career.”

 

“Yeah, that makes sense.  So, is there a plan for today?”

 

“Breakfast, some boring bills to pay, prep dinner for tonight, over to the shelter at out leisure, and then we go pick Martha up at the exit point where her guide will kick her off the river.”

 

Alex got a sudden amusing mental picture from that; a much younger Martha begging ‘five more minutes!’ from a beleaguered faceless expert.

 

“Now, grab a plate and help me eat this stuff!”

 

***********************

 

Around mid-day, George drove Alex and himself to the animal shelter he’d been visiting for the past few years.  He and Martha and been debating adopting a shelter pet for a while now, but hadn’t been able to find the right time or decide on one (which made their decision to apply to be foster parents all the more ironic).  It was always a bitter-sweet experience for him; distracting, yes, but also a reminder.  He’d adopted a dog not long after he separated.  It helped him with the transition from military to civilian life, and he loved taking care of her and walking her through the countryside.  He wondered if eventually he might be able to pass that experience down to Alex.

 

After checking in at the front desk, Alex and George idly made their way down the isles between cages, looking in at various cats and dogs (and a few rabbits) fallen on hard times.  A friendly volunteer whose name tag read ‘Josie’ led them.  They took their time, sometimes getting the cages opened so they could interact with the animals more directly.  It was here Alex could get a sense of their different personalities – some were more aloof and standoffish (mostly cats), some were excited at the new faces, and others were shy and afraid but clearly starving for affection. 

 

George was particularly taken with an uncommonly cuddly ginger tabby cat, and Alex noticed him get a bit misty-eyed while petting a very fluffy older dog.  The label on her cage identified her as a Leonberger.  Alex, meanwhile, happily gave many belly rubs, stroked many furry heads, suffered a few scratches, and openly ‘aww’ed at the rabbits’ ears and twitching noses.  He couldn’t help but stare, though, at one of the last cages.

 

‘Max,’ as his label called him, was a rich dark brown except for a white blaze down his face and chest, and small bands at his feet.

 

“Ah, now he’s a Pitbull terrier,” Josie offered.  “I know they have a reputation for being vicious, but-“

 

“He’s so cute!” Alex unintentionally interrupted.  But he couldn’t help it; the dog really was.  His head was almost heart-shaped when viewed from the front, and his big brown eyes were full of hope and friendliness.  The best part, Alex thought, was that his white face was interrupted just under his nose by a thin patch of fine brown fur, which bore more than a passing resemblance to a mustache.  At his request, Josie opened the cage and Alex knelt down to get acquainted – which meant getting his face thoroughly licked, and his arms whipped repeatedly by a thin, excited tail.  He didn’t mind at all.

 

In fact, he was so engrossed in petting Max that he didn’t notice at all what George was up to behind him. 

 

Finally, the older man put a tentative hand on his shoulder.  “We should probably head out, Alex, if we want to pick Martha up on time.”

 

Alex gave Max a last pat on the head and reluctantly stood, hating to hear the whimpers that resulted.  He wondered if he could persuade George to come back sometime soon.  Maybe he could even volunteer here some days?  He’d have to ask what the minimum age was.

 

******************

 

George took extra care on the winding road leading to the river bank where they’d pick Martha up.  Behind them, the car’s trailer hitch (which thus far had never actually hauled a trailer) pulled the cart that would be used to carry Martha’s motorcycle back home, and the back seat was stocked with towels and dry clothes.  A representative from the company Martha rented her gear from would be there to pick up her rentals and give the guide a ride back.

 

The directions Alex read off the gps were confirmed when they saw a sign identifying a small graveled parking lot near the river, and they pulled in and got out, before trekking down a thin dirt path to the shore.  They stopped a few yards from the water’s edge on a small ridge carved into the land, where they could see far upstream.  Past the trees and rocks, they could make out two colorful figures paddling toward them.  Right on time, then.

 

Alex and George watched, tensed for the first sign of trouble, as Martha made her way down the final leg of her journey.  They could see her arms flex from paddling beneath the thin jacket she wore; could see her shifting her weight to account for the uneven surface of the water.  She was coming from what looked like a relatively calm section (from what little they could see), but before her was one more section of rapids to pass before her exit point.    

 

Alex took note of how Martha would drive one end of the paddle into the water at a sharp angle and use it to redirect her momentum into a turn; it reminded him of how she would lean her bodyweight on the motorcycle when going around corners.  She would cut across the current to take each small waterfall at an angle, using the eddies to control her speed and buy time for determining the next path. 

 

Even from their distance, he thought he could see a wide smile on her face.  And he thought, proudly, that Martha seemed to have this river in the bag.

 

Then it happened.

 

He had no idea what went wrong, but her kayak didn’t slip neatly around one of the boulders like normal.  The front tip caught, spinning her tail end forward with the speed that had built up.  There was another short drop ahead, and as the kayak went over, it over-balanced, rolling upside-down, plunging Martha’s head and shoulders beneath the churning water.

 

“No!” Alex gasped.  He wasn’t consciously aware of having grabbed George’s forearm in fear, but he did feel when George raised his other hand to grip Alex’s shoulder.  To keep Alex from running to the water, or to reassure one or both of them, neither of them were sure.

 

“Just wait,” George whispered.  But the teen didn’t miss the way his voice was pinched with dread.

 

Martha’s kayak kept floating face-down for several seconds, and Alex felt certain he was about to throw up.  But then he saw that the paddle was still firmly in her hands, parallel to the kayak at the surface.  With a sudden sweeping motion, one end of the paddle cut up through the surface of the water while the other cut down, and with it, Martha was somehow rolling back upright.*

 

She shook her head, spitting out some water and shaking it from her eyes.  Her shoulders heaved from breathing rapidly, but other than that she looked completely unharmed.

 

Alex and George both let out heavy exhales of relief.

 

She passed through the remaining rapids without incident, emerging into the calmer current on the other side.  Up ahead, the guide had turned and was signaling Martha that she could begin to approach the shore.  She angled her kayak almost perpendicular to the water’s edge and paddled at a calmer pace, letting the current carry her diagonally forward.  When she reached the shallows, she turned parallel to the river’s path again, and stopped.

 

Martha set her paddle crossways behind her on the kayak, using it to push herself up and out.  She was a bit wobbly on her feet for a few seconds before steadying.  Once she was certain she wouldn’t topple, she lifted the kayak onto the sand so it wouldn’t float away, then unbuckled and removed her helmet, turning to look back at the river.  She contemplated it silently a moment, then threw her head back, curled her hands into raised fists and gave a joyous yell.  Dimly in the back of his mind, it made Alex think of a prehistoric caveperson celebrating a successful hunt.

 

“YEEES!  I fucking love white water!  I feel so alive!  I am so doing this again next year!”

 

As she yelled, she turned absentmindedly back to the bank, where she spotted Alex and George on the higher ground and waved, smiling.  “Hey!  Couldn’t wait to have me back, huh- oof!”

 

Alex had darted forward and somewhat tackled her in a clumsy hug, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist -- or, at least as tight as he could get around her life jacket.

 

“You’re crazy,” he whispered.  Martha gave a short bark of laughter, returning his hug.

 

“An opinion you probably share with my mother,” she said wryly.

 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he finished, his eyes tightly closed.  She immediately softened.

 

“’Course I am,” she said quietly, resting a wet hand on the top of his head.  She looked up to see George approaching, Alex’s sentiment echoed more subtly in his face.  “I’m not gonna get punked out like that.”

 

George reached the pair of them, putting one hand on Alex’s shoulder and wrapping the other around Martha’s.  He said nothing, but the way he leaned in and pressed his cheek against hers, simply breathing in her physical presence, spoke volumes.  She swallowed.

 

“Besides, I can’t keep both my boys worrying too much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Note - this is a sweep roll that I'm describing, but Alex doesn't know the terminology or technique. Also, I've never actually ridden a motorcycle, so if anything's super-weird...


	21. July V / August I - Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex edges into the beginning of his worst time of year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead. It's super short and I wrote it while buzzed, but I wanted to get something out. The next chapter should be longer and more involved.
> 
> Edit 11/28: I added a little section at the end of this chapter, because it won't fit well into the next one, which should be up in the next few days at the latest (famous last words, I know).

That night after they returned to the house and were settling down, Martha was toweling her hair dry from her shower when George pulled out his phone.

“I’ve got something to show you,” he said.

“Oh? I’m intrigued.” She sat down beside him on the bed, and he held the phone so they could both see its contents. When he played a video, it showed Alex kneeling on a concrete floor happily getting his face licked by a brown Pitbull, while he scratched behind its ears and showered it with affection.

She was grinning by the end.

“Very nice, very nice indeed,” she murmured fondly, nodding.

George looked sideways at her. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

*******************

A few short hours later, Alex was having regrets about seeing the end of Martha’s journey on the river.

The regrets took the shape of the dreams his brain conjured – and his brain was being a downright bastard tonight.

It was his own mother now careening along the frothing water, except she had no proper equipment or protective gear; she had only a simple canoe and a battered oar. It was clear she had none of Martha’s training or preparation either, as he could see her struggling against the current every bit of the way, fighting to keep her little vessel upright and true. She was rattled around inside the canoe, slipping on the seat and often jostled into falling to her knees, pushing herself back up only for moments at a time.

He stood on the shore again, but with impossible vision – he could perceive clearly the fear in her face, the whites of her eyes as the rapids grew angrier and more wild. He looked around him desperately, for a rope to throw her, another boat in which he could go out to her, but there was nothing. He couldn’t even leave the shore; his feet were stuck ankle deep in the wet sand and mud.

He was helpless. And when the canoe caught on the boulder the same way Martha’s kayak did and tipped over, Rachel fell into the water completely, and never resurfaced.

Even on the shore, he was drowning too.

He woke up gasping as if he truly had been. His eyes burned, and it sparked the anger he needed.

He’d thought he was past the worst of it. It was going on two years now. He should be past the worst of it.

His anger at himself brought back his old anger at the world, at her too-early passing, and with nothing out in the world to take it out on, nothing worth disturbing Martha and George over, he could only sit in bed, grip his hair in his fists and seethe, and pretend he wasn’t crying again.

***************

A particularly well-taught monkey would have noticed Alex’s combination of low energy and unease the following morning, so it was no surprise that George and Martha did. They heard the listlessness in his short answers to questions, and were disturbed by the brief smiles he gave, made weirdly grotesque from how forced the obviously were.

“Alex,” Martha began concernedly, “you don’t have to pretend to be okay. We know it’s getting closer to that time. It’s normal to have more bad days. You can just tell us.”

“It’s not going to go away,” he reminded them. “I’m going to have to just deal with it when school starts. And I was told by some former classmates – and teachers – that I should smile more. Now seems like as good a time as any to practice.” His voice betrayed his age as he aimed to be detached and dispassionate, and failed spectacularly, his frustration slipping through the cracks.

“Your former classmates and teachers were morons. Smiling without genuine emotional stimulus in overrated,” Martha replied firmly.

That surprised Alex enough to make him look up.

“Really?” She nodded.

“Sure. It’s a way for a larger and stronger thing in the world to tell you to act like everything’s fine when it’s not… especially when the bigger and stronger thing can benefit from your pretending and compliance. Appreciating life and making the most of it is obviously a good thing and all, but usually the ones telling you to smile through your suffering are the ones who just don’t want to deal with it.”

“Huh,” he pondered quietly.

They ate without speaking for a while, letting him work through his thoughts, until he remembered a practical matter in which he been stuck on the shore while his mother had been swept away.

“I wasn’t able to bury her,” he whispered.

They both looked up.

“What?” George asked, aghast.

“Her burial, it was arranged by the hospital, and she was buried on the hospital grounds with strangers,” he clarified, staring down at his plate without seeing it. “I was still recovering, and it’s not like I could have ever afforded a private service. She’s still back on the island – what if no one visits her or brings her flowers? I may- I may never get-“

He cut himself off, sharply tugging a lock of his lengthening hair under the pretense of tucking it behind his ear. He didn’t consciously realize he’d done it, but the brief flash of dull pain helped ground him in the present.

“Just…” He cleared his throat. “Just something that bothers me from time to time.” Like he was talking about the weather, or bumpy car rides from potholes in the road.

“Well, we’ll have to do something about that,” Martha muttered decisively, but more to herself than to Alex.

He didn’t want to ask what she meant, so he finished his breakfast without another word… despite the concerned looks George sent his way.

******************

“How do you remember your mother?” Derek asked, later that week.

“Um… normally?” Alex ventured. The therapist smiled a bit ruefully.

“Let me be more specific. Do you remember her fondly? Or with anger or regret?”

“Fondly,” Alex insisted. “Why would I be angry at her? It wasn’t her fault she got sick.”

“You’d be surprised,” Derek muttered. “Grief doesn’t usually follow logic – most emotions don’t, really. Sometimes people cope with the memory of the deceased through heightened but simplified emotions… ones that don’t necessarily reflect the complications of the real person.”

“Well, I remember her as she was,” Alex maintained, sitting back and taking root in his chair.

“Hm,” Derek hummed noncommittally. “Flaws and all?”

Alex felt his face contracting into a scowl, and only afterward consciously realized it had done so.

“There we go,” Derek said, sounding mildly satisfied.

“What gives?”

“People sometimes have a tendency to either villainize their family members in death, or sanctify them. They’re not exactly around anymore to challenge either misconception. But both fixating on someone’s mistakes and viewing them as pure and without fault can negatively impact a person’s life by sabotaging their future relationships -- familial, platonic, or otherwise.”

Alex put his chin in his hands, and sighed.

This whole dealing with grief thing was complicated, and exhausting.

****************************

When Martha came back to pick him up from his appoint, she startled Alex by breaking from their normal routine. Usually, at the end of the hour she would knock at the door, be allowed in, and they would get any parting words from Derek or advice for the whole household together.

Today she asked to speak to Derek alone.

“Just for a minute. I just want to ask a little question, then we’ll be on our way,” she assured him.

She probably shouldn’t have bothered, based on the acceleration of his heartbeat, and the queasy sensation building in the back of his throat.

This was it, he thought faintly. He’d been too much – too much baggage, too withdrawn, too something, and they needed more help to deal with it.

_Or maybe they want advice on how to break it to me that—_

He tried to push the thought away, leaning his elbows onto his knees and dragging his hands roughly through his hair.

Don’t make assumptions, don’t make assumptions…

But it was so damn hard.

*************************

“So, George took Alex to an animal shelter while I was away this past weekend, and he showed me a video of Alex with a dog that he really seemed to like, and the dog was really friendly and not aggressive-looking at all. We’re thinking of maybe adopting him for Alex – maybe as a pet, maybe as an emotional support dog. Something to help ground him, at least. We haven’t mentioned it to him yet; we think it might be a nice surprise. What do you think? Good idea?”

Derek considered for a moment after Martha finished, slowing sitting back behind his desk.

“That depends. I can appreciate the intent behind it, of course. But it depends on the dog, for started. Even friendly and well-mannered animals might not necessarily be suited for support tasks, even if we knew what exactly those tasks might be. And though there’s a chance it could work out as intended and it could help Alex, there’s equal chance it could backfire. Alex might not be in a good place to deal with sudden changes to the household and daily routines that a pet would bring. He might interpret it as a placation tactic.”

Martha deflated in the chair. “Oh. We hadn’t thought of it that way.”

Derek nodded. “That’s totally understandable. Ultimately, I’d advise discretion. I’m not saying it’s inherently a bad idea; it could in fact go very well. I’d definitely say not to do the actual adopting without at least discussing it with Alex first.”

She nodded. “Good call; we’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“Just doing my job,” he replied.

“Well…” Martha stood, and he followed suite, and shook her hand when she offered it. “I should get out there, before he starts getting concerned,” she said.

She didn’t know that she was unfortunately a tad behind on that front.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully it won't take as long to get the next one up.


	22. August II - My Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex experiences some strange results of disclosing his past, and is relieved when a new friend reaches out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Couple of days" Yes, I'm hiding my face in embarrassment. I need to learn to stop saying that.

In the following days, Alex didn’t know what to think or expect.  He couldn’t detect any changes in George’s behavior, and eventually his worry that he’d been too much for them in some capacity or that they wanted to send him back diminished somewhat (though it didn’t disappear entirely).

 

Meanwhile, Martha started throwing Alex for a loop (more than she usually did, to be honest).  She first sprung it on him in the supermarket.

 

“Alex, did your mother have a favorite flower?”

 

He stared from where he was picking out a cereal.

 

“Um… I don’t know about a favorite.  She talked about how interesting and colorful the beehive ginger were quite often.”

 

Martha nodded.  “And what about her favorite animal?”

 

He frowned.  “She liked the coquís frogs, I suppose,” he muttered.  She’d said their loud croaking was what her thoughts sounded like on the more hectic work days.

 

He realized though, with a growing little knot in his gut, that he couldn’t answer with certainty if they were her _favorite_.  The more he thought about it, the more he realized:

 

There was a great deal he didn’t know about his mother’s inner life, or even her life before he was born. 

 

It made him queasy to think about, so he pushed it away, dropping the cereal box into the cart.

 

“Why are you asking me these questions?”

 

Her face grew guarded.  “I… I’m curious.”  She paused.  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by prying.”

 

He could feel different reactions clashing within him, standing there in the isle.  One was a weird possessiveness – his mother’s memory was, well, _his_ (though she herself hadn’t been, not really, as he’d just been uncomfortably reminded).  Then there was the unease attached to that age-old question: why?  _Why_ was she curious?  For all her wild energy at times and funky humor, to him Martha also seemed highly analytical.  He suddenly worried she was gathering data on Rachel out of misguided aim to imitate her in his time of grief, to make him feel better.  He didn’t think he could deal with that.

 

Then again, Martha didn’t seem like the type of person to imitate anyone, regardless of the reason.

 

He absently wrapped a lock of hair around his index finger, pulling it taut, feeling the slight burn of resistance in his scalp. 

 

“Um, it’s okay,” he tried.  “I only feel a little weird about it.”

 

He instantly regretted the look of remorse and concern on Martha’s face.

 

***********************

 

The weirdness he felt continued. 

 

First there was Martha; she didn’t directly ask him any more questions about his mother, but there were other things.  Similar to the weeks before she went on her whitewater trip, he saw her spending more time on the shared computer at home.  Sometimes she said she had an email to send to her sister, which seemed silly to Alex.  Who still emailed friends and family when they could call or text or instant message?  Once, in passing, he thought he saw her looking at some kind of digital records.

 

Worse was the weather.  Virginia was reaching its peak of summer heat and humidity so far, reminding him again of the anniversary approaching.  The mosquitoes were abundant, and they never seemed to let him even step foot outside for even five minutes without attacking, which made anxiety spike within him. 

 

He’d looked up which diseases had and hadn’t been effectively wiped out in the continental US shortly after he arrived.  But it didn’t stop the reactive fear from coming back.

 

Then there was a piece of concerning news to add on to the pile:  the Washingtons received notice that the second home visit was approaching. Last time had been fine.  Beatrice had conducted the visit, and she knew him and what was functionally normal for him.  But they couldn’t get Beatrice this time, as she was being sent to a yearly conference.  This time they would be getting a stranger, someone with possibly entirely different expectations, a man named Charles Lee.

 

All in all, he was fed up with being so stressed, and so he was intensely relieved to receive a text from John one day asking him if he wanted to hang out.  He desperately needed some distraction; hopefully a friend his own age could provide it.  He also couldn’t help but notice how relieved Martha and George looked at him actually asking to go out and socialize with his peers.  Must be one of those emotional health indicators Derek had talked about.

 

After lunch he got ready, assured George and Martha that his phone was fully charged and that he’d text them periodically, and didn’t fuss when they followed him outside to meet John and his older sister Susan (who would be driving to the town center and was “letting them tag along”).  She briefly assured the Washingtons that her driving record was clean, and they came to an agreement on when she and John would bring Alex back, before they wished him a good time and the teens set off.

 

“Hey Susie, it’s way too freakin’ hot out today.  Let’s go to the mall,” John suggested when they were buckled and on the road.  Alex privately agreed. 

 

“Well, since it’s in the same direction, I suppose,” she replied.

 

“Oh, much obliged, Miss,” he returned in an exaggerated Southern accent.  His sarcasm sounded fond enough, and she sent him a flipped bird from the front seat without taking her eyes off the road.  It seemed like a well-worn exchange.

 

He and Alex exchanged small talk, and before long they’d arrived at the only proper mall in town.  Susan pulled up to the curb to let them out.

 

“I’ll be back at 5 to pick you up here.  Call me if anyone ends up bleeding or whatever.  And don’t keep me waiting, punk!”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” he called back, before she drove off and he and Alex made their way inside.  “Come on, let’s hit the bookstore first,” he suggested, gesturing with his head.

 

Alex already thought John was a pretty cool guy, but he automatically rose even more in his opinion at that.

 

They strolled past electronics stores, sunglasses and skincare kiosks, and overpriced clothing stores.  Briefly, they looked at what was playing at the discount matinee theater, but it was nothing either of them particularly cared about.  The soft pretzel stand was tempting, but for once Alex wasn’t hungry, so he reminded himself to possibly bring it up later. 

 

Finally they reached the chain bookstore at the far end, and Alex reminded himself not to geek out too hard.  The two started in the new releases and began perusing, John with his phone in his hand and unlocked. 

 

“I’m probably not gonna buy anything today, ‘cus these guys tend to rob you blind nowadays.  But I like to make a list of the stuff I’m interested, and get it from the library or request that they order it.  I’m probably a nuisance to them by now, but I don’t really care.”

 

“That’s a good idea,” Alex agreed, preparing to start his own list. 

 

They waded through biographies, literary novels, political think-pieces, movie tie-ins, and more, sharing promising titles and snickering at others.  From there they briefly looked into the music section, and admired the nerdy clothing and merchandise.  Then they meandered through sci-fi and the various non-fiction sections.  Over the course of their wandering, Alex came to see that while John didn’t necessarily share all of his niche interests, he was quick-witted, sharp-humored without being harsh, and deeply passionate about his goals and ideals.  In a world full of apathy, even apathy that Alex could understand, that passion was a welcome change.

 

Maybe it was coincidence of their winding path, maybe Alex gravitated toward it unconsciously.  Regardless Alex found himself in the small section devoted to parent-child oriented advice books.  John must have noticed his suddenly somber mood, because he ventured closer and stood by Alex’s shoulder.

 

“You alright?  You look like you got knocked into a funk.”  He followed the direction of Alex’s focus, and his expression cleared somewhat.  “Ah.  Problems with the parentals?”

 

Alex shrugged noncommittally.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.  I’m not sure.”  John didn’t push the matter, and they slowly made their way out of the bookstore.  When they passed the pretzel stand again and John showed interest, Alex quickly agreed, glad not only for a nutritionally-deficient baked good but also for the distraction.

 

They settled at a table with their pretzels and slushies to wash them down, and dug in.  Soon, Alex felt an odd desire to confide in John come over him.

 

“Is it normal for parents to like, ask you personal questions?  Even about uncomfortable stuff?”

 

John looked up at him more directly.  “Um… yeah.  That’s pretty normal.”  He paused.  “Or so say the rumors.”  Alex let out a weak huff of amusement.

 

The other boy seemed to try to gauge Alex’s mood for a moment, before continuing.  “Are your foster folks digging into your background?”

 

“Yeah.  Or, they were.  I think Martha still is, but I don’t know why.  They already know the basics, so I don’t know what’s up.  She was asking about what my mom liked, for some reason.  Then I thought she was looking at some sort of census or something…  Does that seem normal?  Or weird?  How would you react, if it were you in my position?”

 

John deflated a bit with a regretful shrug.  “I hate to break it to you, but you’re asking the wrong guy.  My family isn’t exactly the best with communication; I haven’t even come out to my parents yet.”

 

Alex blinked.  “Oh.  Damn.  That sucks.  Sorry, man.”

 

“Eh.  It is what it is.  But I mean, you seemed like you were doing pretty well when we bumped into you at the dance club.  It looked like Martha and George were doing ok by you.  But, hey, I know sometimes appearances can be deceiving with that stuff.”

 

“No, they’ve been good,” Alex insisted.  “Really good.  I’m sure she doesn’t mean anything weird by it.  It’s like, I’ve got no good reason to think she’s doing anything sketchy, but I still can’t quite stop worrying about it.  Among other stuff.”

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s called clinical anxiety, dude,” John replied sympathetically.  “Or possibly a symptom of PTSD, for whatever you might or might not have going on in your past.  I don’t know, I’m not a doctor.”

 

“I’m talking to a doctor,” Alex mumbled.

 

“Oh.  Mood,” John nodded.

 

Alex let out a relieved breath, and proposed a change of subject, which the other boy readily agreed to.

 

And by the time Susan came to pick them up as agreed, Alex was quite comfortable in reclassifying John Laurens from “cool acquaintance” to “friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a pain to realize that what was originally going to be one chapter needs to be two or three to get in all the stuff you want to include. Feedback appreciated as always; I feel like I'm all over the place in this chapter focus-wise, and expositing more than I'm showing.
> 
> :)


	23. Author's Note / Head's Up

So... Yeah. So sorry that this isn't an actual update, but for any interested, the next chapter has been approx 60-70% done for about a month, but with the holiday season I was left working so much that my energy and focus were sapped from pretty much all other areas of my life. Also, damn you "The Mandalorian" for giving me feels unrelated to my current WIP and emotionally dragging me back to Star Wars.

So long story short, this isn't abandoned, and I'm sorry for the lag between updates, but... yeah. Life, amiright? 

(I'll probably leave this up even after I update and make the next chapter Ch 24 just to not confuse people, when I eventually finish and post it.)


	24. August III - The Living Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lead-up to the next home visit in the midst of the bad time of year, with some of the angst and uncertainty that goes with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm finally getting this pain in the butt up, as rough as it probably is considering some of it is months old an some of it was finished like a minute ago. There's a substantial chunk of the next one written, and the rest shouldn't cause me nearly as much to finish as this one did, so hopefully we get some momentum again.
> 
> Onward.

 

The closer the second home visit came, the more Alex worried and stressed, and the more he talked to John, and sometimes Hercules, online or on his phone.  The closer he got to the onset of the outbreak anniversary, the more reluctant he was to go outside, and the more focused he became on keeping up as strong an immunity as possible – even if a part of him knew it wasn’t necessary to that degree.  He’d get up extra early in the morning some days to boil water before putting it in the pitcher in the fridge, washed his hands religiously, and tried to consume as much immunity-supporting vitamins as the household grocery trips would allow.

Even more noticeable, his concern naturally spread to account for George and Martha. When Martha so much as mentioned minor stomach pain (from indigestion), his fists reflexively clenched and asked her, as casually as possible, if she was feeling warmer than normal.  When George came in from yardwork sweating and with a slight headache, Alex plied him with filtered water and insisted he rest.  When they ran out of basic fever reducers, he requested that they get more on the next grocery trip. 

It got even worse the night before the visit, in a grimly different way.  He’d just padded his way downstairs for drink when he heard George and Martha’s voices in the kitchen.  He was about to join them when the words made him pause.

“Do you think we should reassure him more plainly that he doesn’t have to worry about it here?”  George.

So they’d noticed.  He should just start expecting them to notice all the various shapes his mental baggage took.

“I don’t know.  I want to say I don’t think so…  Maybe if it were during the school year, his worry could be more disruptive to his day-to-day life, but right now he doesn’t have much of school stuff to worry about.”  Martha.

“What about when school _does_ start?” George pressed.  “It’s coming up fast.”

“I know.  But by then, the outbreak anniversary will have passed, right?  The anxiety could very well ease up on its own.”  She paused.  “But I admit that’s certainly not the only possibility.  But I can’t help but wonder if him taking these precautionary measures right now helps him maintain some feeling of control.  Maybe it’s another question for Jackson.”

George gave an acknowledging _hmn_ while Alex thought. 

He certainly didn’t feel like he had any particular control over this specific facet of his situation, but then, what did he really have to compare his current situation to?  This time last summer?  That hadn’t been the total hell of the outbreak followed by the hurricane, but it had been its own brand of extremely crappy.  Peter had been in treatment for months, but it was slow going, from what little communication Alex received.  He’d been in the foster system for a while, but had been working constantly to get through that first half-year of a new school, and hadn’t made any friends, and was struggling with the constant uncertainty of his position, never knowing if he would be sent to yet another unfamiliar place.  Eventually he stopped anticipating that anyone would foster him, and by then the worst grief of that first anniversary had abated.

Now he knew that it came in waves, in cycles, and those cycles could be altered or disrupted by outside forces – such as huge change in environment.  Looking back, he supposed he had felt a similar, abstract anxiety about another illness, but it was soon overwhelmed by everything else.

But things were different now.  So… he was in a more stable environment, but he was remembering that bad shit _more_?  It made his thoughts start to spin, so he put it aside – which was fortunate, because the adults’ conversation wasn’t over.

“I got in touch with Craig,” Martha was now saying.  “He says he should be able to do it once I give him the information.  Says we can work it out.”

Who the hell was Craig?

He had no clue, and right now he was too tired, in different ways, to feel like finding out.

He turned and quietly began making his way back upstairs.  He could get a drink from the sink the bathroom.  Rationally, he knew it was clean.

Had he stayed longer, he may have gained no further understanding but instead more anxiety.  An anxiety, as in the case of many insecure teens, derived from the fear of being a burden or a cause of conflict in the relationships of others. 

“You know I think it’s a good idea in principle.  But I still think keeping it secret isn’t the way to go,” George offered.

“I know, but if I brought it up before any of it was put in at least some motion, he’d say he doesn’t need it, I know he would,” Martha insisted. 

“And you think he’d be lying?”

“I think he’d be lying to himself more than to us.”

“But why?” George pressed.  “He’s a smart kid, don’t you think he’d know what he needs?”

“Love, I don’t think _anyone_ knows what they need emotionally all the time, regardless of age or how smart they are.  Case in point, all the people our age or older who are in therapy themselves.  And…” she trailed off.

“And what?” George asked.

She hesitated.  Years in an environment where personal disagreements had to be ignored in the face of the chain of command left habits that were difficult to override even now (though she was lucky in that she rarely had worry about it).  And while now she was with an equal, in a way that made it harder (a pesky thing, that _caring_ business).The last thing she wanted was to give the impression of dismissing George’s insights and experiences.

But there were things that had taken root before him.

“I can’t help but feel that you don’t fully get how much this could help him.  Both of your parents are still alive.  You haven’t had to live with that type of regret.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes leaving her face to the side, to look back into the memories only he could see.

He sighed.  “No.  No, I haven’t.  I was one of the lucky ones.”

She knew he wasn’t saying it in any poorly-meant or sarcastic way.  It was a simple, somber statement of fact, in the greater picture.

She gave her own sigh. 

Even though she was ignoring her own advice by banking on the hope that Alex wouldn’t react negatively to her project – even though George cautioned against keeping it under wraps – a driving instinct in her said this needed to be done.  That this woman who had brought a kid like Alex into the world and laid the foundations for who he now was, who by his brief description had worked long and hard and received so little in return… she needed to be honored.  And the same instinct said that Alex needed this tiny scrap of resolution to his long path of grief and turmoil.

Experience had taught Martha never to offer something unless you could offer it in its entirety.  You didn’t face a board of your superiors and claim you deserved a certification while only knowing half of the information.  You didn’t write a check that could bounce; you didn’t offer a gift you couldn’t follow through on.

So she’d wanted to wait until she was sure it could be done.

But she knew deep down that she was running on borrowed time before good intentions no longer balanced out secrecy.

She took a breath.  “I also think you’re right in that I shouldn’t hide it any longer.  You think tomorrow after the visit is a good time to bring it up?”

He smiled wryly.  “Probably the best time.  Get the worrying stuff out of the way.”

She smiled in return, and they leaned sideways into each other at the counter, fingers entwined.

******************

 

He couldn’t explain why, but when Alex woke up the next morning he had the strangest compulsion to talk to John again, to see him face-to-face.  Something about the other boy had proven calming and reassuring previously, so he figured it was his nerves talking.  And Lee wasn’t meant to arrive until the afternoon, so he figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.

When he did so at breakfast, George’s eyebrows rose.

“There’s not much time to work with.  Do you have a plan for what you want to do?”  Alex grimaced.

“Er – not really.  There has to be a plan?”  He paused.  “I don’t know.  Sedate teenage shenanigans,” he tried.

Martha snorted, while George gave a short chuckle.  “Tell you what.  Why don’t you invite him to hang out over here?  That way there’s no worry of not being back in time.”

So Alex did, and in short order John eagerly agreed.

When the other teen arrived, dropped off again by Susan, he greeted the Washingtons politely and exchanged small talk with them before following Alex up to his room. 

“So how’s things going with the foster folks?” John asked once they were inside.  “Now that they’re not in immediate earshot.  Good?  Or still weird?”

Alex felt an odd rush of relief that John cared enough to ask so soon.

“George is being normal for him, I guess.  Martha… she’s still being kinda weird.  Maybe even weirder,” Alex muttered.

“Weirder?  Like, weirder how?” John pressed.

“She’s setting up a deal or something, with some guy named Craig.”

“A deal, huh?  You don’t suppose she’s part of the mafia?”

Alex gave a short laugh.  “Now that you mention, I would totally believe her capable of surviving the mafia for this long.  George too, in his own way.  But no, I don’t think that’s it.”

“In that case I don’t know what to tell you.  Sorry, man.” 

Alex shook his head.  “Nah, it’s fine.  I shouldn’t even be unloading this stuff onto you,” he returned, feeling a twinge of guilty realization even as he said it.

“What are friends for?” the other boy insisted, making Alex feel a strange warmth of reassurance.

 Still, they moved on to other topics, John browsing Alex’s small collection of books, and them browsing social media side by side, offering jokes or funny videos back and forth.  John eventually showed him a mobile game he could download for free, and they went a few rounds in comfortable companionship until George knocked at the open door, giving a heads-up about the time.

He and John were passing the home office when it happened.

The door was open a few inches, and he could hear Martha’s voice from inside.  She was clearly on the phone.  He caught her listing two dates to the person on the other end:

His mother’s date of birth, and the date of her death.

Days, months, and years that he’d burned into his memory, and which he’d most certainly _not_ disclosed to the Washingtons.  His whole body froze for a long moment, every inch of his skin going cold.  He didn’t notice john’s look of concern at his side.

He’d given the door three harsh knocks and pushed it open before he realized he’d moved.  He strode into the office, staring down at Martha.  She stared back, clearly startled, but beyond that her expression gave nothing away.  He could tell she knew he’d heard at least something.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” she said into the phone.  She waited for a reply, and gave a brief farewell before hanging up.

“What’s going on?” Alex asked immediately, his voice hard. 

“How much did you hear?” she asked in return, levelly.

“May twelfth, 1982.  August thirteenth, 2017.  Two dates very important to me that I never said out loud to you or George,” he ground out.

She nodded slowly, a resigned sort of expression on her face.

“What is this?” he demanded, feeling his face growing hot.  “Why did you dig up information about my mom?  And ask me about what she liked?  What is any of that to you?”  He dragged in a harsh breath, made even louder by Martha’s cautious silence, pretending he didn’t feel a lump growing in his throat.

“What, is it some sort of psychological healing thing?  Did Derek put you up to this?”

“Um, Alex, dude,” John started tentatively, from behind him. 

But he couldn’t listen.

“What am I supposed to think about this?” he asked, the anger giving way to a beseeching note.  He couldn’t even articulate why it unsettled him so much, just that it felt like she was trying to take something away from him.

Martha sat back in her chair wearily and looked up at him, a vulnerability in her eyes he wasn’t used to seeing.

“I can’t tell you what you’re supposed to think.  All I can tell you is my reasoning, after I explain what exactly this is.  Will you give me the chance?”

Her voice was quiet, even oddly controlled, surprising Alex.  In the back of his mind he’d been expecting defensive anger, the exercise of authority at long last, to be put in his place for his outburst.  It could still be coming, for all he knew, and it made the twisting in his gut grow cold.

George appeared in the doorway, clearly drawn to Alex’s raised voice, and looked between them, uncertain and clearly concerned.  But, as Alex was about to find out, there was a bigger problem.

“He’s here.”

 


	25. August IV - Believe It or Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second home visit, as conducted by CPS agent Charles Lee.

The Washingtons, Alex, and John, trooped to the entryway of the house, the tension between Alex and Martha palpable.  He looked beside him at the other teen, a knot of anxiety building up in his gut, unable to describe what he was feeling.

  


“Do you want me to stay?” John asked, concern clear in his voice.

  


Oh.  Maybe that was it. 

  


He looked to George.  “Is that allowed?”

  


George shrugged, in a way that suggested he too was uncharacteristically nervous.  “If it makes you more comfortable, I don’t see why not.”  Martha nodded silently, her face still blank, so Alex accepted readily.

  


The man on the other side of the door barely had time to knock before George was pulling the door open. 

  


“Agent Lee, good afternoon.”

  


The man on the stoop raked his eyes over George, Martha, and Alex without smiling, clipboard under one arm and khakis slightly too short.

  


“Yes, yes, hello.  Let’s get this over with.”  And he stepped inside without so my as a by-your-leave, barely avoiding running into the group.

  


Alex swallowed, lingering behind George as they turned around.  This didn’t bode well.

  


Agent Charles Lee was… well, on the serious side of things, Alex tried not to buy into stereotypes.  But to be honest, of all the old, white men he’d encountered, Lee was the _most_ Old White Man.  He could easily imagine the particular type of hat the man would likely wear, if it weren’t a bit too casual, or personal, for his profession’s dress code.

  


Needless to say, the walkthrough was exceptionally awkward.  Lee seemed determined to find fault.  He made a note on his clipboard, his face twisted in distain, at Martha’s medication being kept in the kitchen (so she could take it at breakfast on a regular schedule), making a pointed comment about Alex possibly getting into it – as if he were an idiot.

  


“Um, I know not to take medication that hasn’t been prescribed to me, thanks,” Alex offered, unable to keep a slight edge of annoyance out of his voice.

  


“Hm,” was all Lee replied, giving him a look Alex didn’t like at all. 

  


“I’m sure he knows that,” John said, put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, his phone in his other hand open to a text conversation.  Alex got the feeling John was only saying that to keep some small sense of goodwill going between them and Lee.

  


The man didn’t appear to appreciate it, gesturing impatiently to the teen.  “What is this other boy doing here?”

  


Alex couldn’t quite keep himself from baring his teeth, about to speak on John’s behalf, but George beat him to it.

  


“’This other boy’ can hear you, has a name, and is Alex’s friend,” he stated firmly.

  


“I’m here for emotional support,” John added helpfully.  Lee scoffed.

  


“So you’re letting a child call the shots, huh?” he muttered, writing on his clipboard again.

  


“That’s quite a leap of twisting his words,” Martha replied coolly.  Lee gave her a look that Alex thought to be unprofessionally withering.

  


“You’re not doing him any favors by not employing discipline.”  Martha didn’t reply, but her eyes narrowed.

  


And so it continued.  Lee turned up his nose at the motorcycle in the garage, but couldn’t objectively count it as a mark against them since it was properly registered and insured and Alex had his own helmet.  He expressed the barest modicum of approval at Alex not having a TV or personal computer in his room, but none of them thought it really counted for much, and thought it said more about Lee than about them.

  


“Firearms?” the agent asked, watching George in a way Alex _really_ didn’t like, but the taller man held firm – though his hands had started clenching.

  


“None.”

  


Another wordless jot on the damn clipboard.

  


Then the most dreaded part: the interviews.  Lee didn’t seem particularly inclined to follow the procedure Beatrice established last time; instead he faced them all in the living room, and addressed George and Martha together first.  Alex didn’t know what kind of questions Beatrice had asked George and Martha privately, but he suspected Lee deviated from those as well.

  


He questioned them on their work schedules, and nonverbally expressed disapproval for any times that Alex was left at home to his own devices, which the teen found rather insulting.

  


“And you both completed high school – here in America, I mean, correct?”

  


Alex’s jaw dropped.

  


“Yes,” George replied, his voice beginning to reflect strain.  His pen, previously in his button-down’s breast pocket, had migrated to his hand.  Martha took the other hand in her own.

  


“If the agency has lost some of our records, we can easily pull out both our doctorate diplomas,” she said with a thin, forced smile.  Under normal circumstances, Alex thought the edge to her voice could have been pride, but right now the clear underlying anger was too sharp to allow it.  And despite his complicated emotions toward her at present, he couldn’t help but sympathize.

  


Lee scowled.

  


“And how are the boy’s grades from this last year?”  Alex’s teeth clenched at the wording.

  


“ _Alex’s_ grades, which you could have asked him about directly, were excellent,” George replied quickly.  “All A’s except for one B in science, which we are still quite proud of.”  His words and the warmth behind them gave Alex a much-needed boost of reassurance.

  


Lee smiled in a keenly unpleasant way.  “And I suppose he told you they were ‘excellent’ himself, did he?”

  


Martha frowned.  “No.  His report card did that, both the hard copy he showed us and the digital copy that was emailed directly to both of us.”

  


The other man scowled again.  His gaze honing in on the pen being spun like a drumstick in George’s hand, calling to Alex’s memory of that first daylight conversation.

  


“Why are you doing that?” he asked, his gray brows furrowed and annoyance clear in his tone.

  


George stiffened, the pen stilling.  “It’s stimming.  I’m on the Autism spectrum.  It’s in our file.”

  


Lee’s lip curled.  “Hm, yes, I saw.  Makes me wonder how you ever got approved.”

  


Alex’s blood instantly began to boil, but Martha was able to speak faster than he was.

  


“You are being out of line, Mr. Lee, and I don’t think it’s worthy of your profession.”  Her voice was ice cold.

  


“A good thing it’s my profession then and not yours,” Lee responded snidely.  “Especially since by the profile you’re not much better.”

  


“Hey!” Alex interjected hotly.  He felt John’s hand on his shoulder again, while Lee’s gaze swiveled to him.

  


“I don’t believe we’ve reached your interview, yet,” he responded coldly.  He turned back to face the adults.

  


“I’ll say it again.  A foremost element of raising any child is maintaining discipline – especially considering his background.”

  


Alex’s face flushed with anger, and he could feel himself start to tremble in his seat.

  


“Though perhaps discipline isn’t a strong suite for either of you.”

  


“The supervisors in our respective chains of command would likely disagree,” George replied.  His tone was mostly even, but Alex could hear the beginning of shaking underneath, to go with George’s rapid blinking.

  


“And we both know what you mean by Alex’s ‘background,’” Martha added, her previously cool tone replaced with simmering anger and frustration.

  


“Well, everyone knows-“ Lee began, condescension clear in his voice.

  


But Martha had clearly had enough.

  


“No.  Not ‘everyone knows.’  ‘Everyone knows’ is a cheap generalization not backed by reality and used by bigots to justify a staggering lack of humanity,” she stated firmly, her breathing starting to accelerate.  Everyone else in the room looked at her.

  


“Did it ever occur to you that Alex is actually a great kid who doesn’t need a lot of strictness right now?  No, you made a stupid judgement based on your own lousy ideas.  But he is!  And maybe I would rather increase strictness by increments as it becomes necessary, rather than assuming a kid is going to be a problem and making myself into the asshole needlessly.  Maybe I’d rather NOT flex too hard and do damage to the relationship that can’t be undone.  Did you seriously have a good relationship with your parents?  I can’t imagine so, and I’m not even going to ask whether you have kids, because that’s not a prerequisite for having, I don’t know, a _brain_.  I’m just going to _hope_ that you don’t.”

  


Alex stared, stunned.

  


Lee, on the other hand, sneered.

  


“You’re clearly emotionally unstable, and quite probably unfit for your caretaking role.  Both of you.  I think that some renewed effort should be put in to locating the boy’s father.”

  


“Absolutely not.” 

  


Alex was nearly as surprised as everyone else in the room to hear the words leave his mouth – keyword _nearly_.  He knew himself, after all.

  


“Not a chance.  Even if you somehow managed to find a guy who spent years clearly not wanting to be found by anyone with any connection to me, I still wouldn’t go to him.  Not in a thousand years.  He had his chance!  He didn’t want it. 

  


“Even if you think I’m shit, there’s no rational way he could have known back then; I’m pretty sure all kids are psycho as toddlers, otherwise why call it the ‘terrible twos’?  So he obviously just didn’t want to be responsible for a kid.  And I’m not willing to trust that he’s changed!”

  


Some distant part of his brain, taking in the ire building in Lee’s face, was tentatively suggesting that he shut up before he made things worse for all of them, but what had been simmering all through Lee’s visit was now boiling over, and he couldn’t stop. 

  


“And you know what?  It’s not just about him.  Martha and George make an effort, something he never did – not for me, and not even for my mom when she was literally dying!  They take care of me and encourage me and never turn me away when I have an issue.  Who cares if they’re different?  They make it work!  They earn my trust and your respect way more than that man ever will!  And if you somehow found him, if it came to it, I’d testify in their defense in family court if I had to.”

  


He knew, as soon as the words left his mouth, that they were the absolute truth.  Weird research projects about his past be damned.

  


The quiet that followed, broken only by Alex’s rapid and heavy breaths, was such that, had it been nighttime, the crickets’ chirps would be heard.

  


Lee was staring at Alex, red-faced with ire and yet also dazed-looking, as if trying to wrap his head around the reality of a teenager opposing him so vehemently to actually defend their foster family and declare their intent to stay in their current situation.

  


George and Martha, meanwhile, were staring at Alex in a very different way. 

  


The spell was broken by John, unassuming John, approaching and tapping Lee on the shoulder, making him startle.  When the older man turned to him, clearly ready to berate him for the interruption, John held out his cell phone.

  


“It’s your boss, Director Tallmadge on for you.” 

  


Lee stared at him for several seconds, his anger fading as his incomprehension grew, until John shook the phone lightly at him.  His expression was the calmest kind of ruthlessness conceivable.

  


“Best not to keep them waiting, I think.”

  


Lee finally took the phone gingerly, looking uncertainly at the number on the screen, before placing it to his ear.

  


“This is Lee…”

  


The Washingtons, Alex, and John would never know exactly what Director Tallmadge told Agent Lee; she never spoke loudly enough for them to hear.  All they knew was the way Lee stiffened, the irritation that passed over his face, how he angled his body partially away from them for the semblance of privacy…

  


And the way his face suddenly grew pale, before he became seemingly resigned to something, his shoulders falling with a heavy exhale.

  


“Understood.”  And he hung up, passing the phone back to John with a sour expression.  He turned to face Alex, Martha and George.  They each braced themselves.

  


“You’ll receive your results next week,” he said flatly.  He paused, before continuing reluctantly.  “You’re advised to not expect any changes in placement at this time.”

  


The three sagged with relief, and a silent look passed between them for a long moment, before George’s gaze returned to Lee, smoothing out from it previous tension to cool temperance.

  


“It seems all the relevant parties have spoken, Mr. Lee.  If you could be so kind as to see yourself out, and off our property.”

  


Lee gave a stiff nod, his face now turning tomato-red.  He turned on his heel, file in hand, and departed, closing the door sharply behind him.

  


By that time, everyone’s attention had moved on, and Alex was wrapped both in a tangle of arms, and his own rush of relief at their embrace, and returned it readily.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this made up for the wait. I know nothing about Lee historically, so I enjoyed the freedom to play here. I briefly wondered if I was making him too heinous, but then I realized, no, if the last three years prove anything, it's that people like him do really exist.
> 
> So, yeah.
> 
> Explanation and John's intervention to follow.
> 
> Feedback appreciated, and all that :)


	26. August V - You are Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immediate aftermath of Lee's visit, and the answers to Alex's questions to Martha.

 

After several minutes, Alex’s thoughts finally caught up to his emotions, and he gently extracted himself before turning to John, who’d made himself as unobtrusive as possible in an armchair.

 

“Dude.  What in the _world_ did you do, and how did you pull it off?  I don’t buy that you just happen to have Lee’s boss’s number in your contacts.”

 

John shrugged, as Martha and George turned to him with similar interest.

 

“Correct.  I admit luck was on my side to a degree, but most of it was simple.”  He showed them his phone’s screen, the browser open to show the Virginia CPS’s general public contact information. 

 

“Turns out they have a help line, with a text-based option for anyone not comfortable with calling, or if they think it’s not safe to call.  Pretty much five minutes after Lee first opened his mouth, I tried it out.  Told them the truth: that I was present to witness a CPS home visit for a friend and was concerned that the agent was reporting with inappropriate bias, to a degree that it could be a detriment to your wellbeing.  Like, Title VI-violating bias.  Among other titles, I’m assuming.  I guess Tallmadge just happened to be around the rep who got my text, and she took over, asked me to call her direct number and put her on speaker so she could hear what I was hearing.  And, well, you saw what happened.  You can’t say she doesn’t take the work seriously.”

 

Alex, Martha and George each looked at him slightly agape, collectively impressed.  Alex with admiration (and a tiny bit of awe), and the adults with increased respect and appreciation.  George shook his head, a smile growing on his face.

 

“Your quick thinking and resourcefulness are incredible, John.  What can we do to show our thanks?”

 

John shrugged.  “That’s really not necessary, Mr. Washington.  I’m just happy I could help before the situation got really bad.”

 

“I think we’re all happy about that,” Martha replied, looking to somewhat still be processing how close Lee had come to making things extremely difficult for them, her own outburst, and Alex’s responding declaration.

 

Seeing her expression reminded Alex of what Lee’s arrival had interrupted, and considering all the day’s revelations together, he felt not so much the return of his previous anger and defensiveness, but rather more confusion, uncertainty, and an approaching state of there being Just Too Much to think about.

 

John seemed to pick up on at least some of Alex’s change in mood, seeing that he grew more serious as he looked between Alex and Martha, clearly also remembering the earlier confrontation.  He cleared his throat.

 

“I, um, I should probably be heading home by now.”  He paused, looking to Alex.  “You good?”

 

They both had an idea of what he was really asking.

 

Alex paused to consider, before nodding, stepping closer to the other teen.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I’m good.”  And for all his confusion and unanswered questions, at this moment he meant it.  “Thanks, man.  For everything.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, with a small, easy smile.

 

They each seemed to have the vague idea that what had transpired warranted a proper farewell, but with no clue as to what kind would be sufficient, appropriate, or within their respective comfort levels.  Thus, they faced each other awkwardly for several seconds.

 

Eventually John took the initiative and made it easy; he held his arms open, but with a casual grin and jaunty tilt of the head that suggested there would be no hard feelings if Alex didn’t want to accept.  Alex let out a short, awkward laugh, before shrugging and stepping into the offered hug.  They added a few manly ‘bro pats’ to the back for good measure. 

 

George, who’d seemed to be having a similar non-verbal conversation with Martha, having received a firm nod from her, stepped forward.

 

“Would you like a ride home, John?”  The teen blinked.

 

“Really?  Um, yeah.  That’d actually be nice.  Thank you.”

 

George nodded, kissed Martha on the cheek, and went to retrieve the car keys, John following in his wake, waving to Alex one last time.

 

Then Martha and Alex were alone, facing each other in the sudden quiet.

 

Eventually, she took a deep breath, sitting back down on the sofa.

 

“Okay, so you wanted to know why I dug up information about your mom.  Why I was asking questions.  You deserve to know, and I was planning on telling you today – pretty much now.”

 

Alex slowly lowered himself into the armchair John had vacated.  “Oh?”

 

“It has to do with what you told us a few weeks ago – about how you weren’t able to give your mother a personal, family burial.”

 

Alex didn’t know what, if anything, he’d been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been that.

 

She must have seen the surprise, and the spark of hope he hadn’t realized he was feeling, on his face, because she shook her head regretfully.

 

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up.  I looked into it, and we can’t have her -- her remains moved closer.  Even though Puerto Rico is a US territory, there’s rules involving her cause of death.  Concerns over contamination, and such.”

 

“Oh,” he said again, his shoulders falling.

 

“ _But…_ I did some thinking, and figured there might be a second-best option.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“It… I think it’s easier to show you.”  She beckoned him to go with her to the office, and he followed.  Sitting at the desk, she logged in and pulled up her email.  When she opened a message, he saw that it was from Justine.  Martha clicked on the attachment, and an image popped up.

 

It was a clear, vivid black-and-white sketch, with sharp contrast.  Leaning in and looking closer, he could see… the bloom of the beehive ginger.  A familiar frog clinging to its stem.   Below the sketch, there was his mother’s name, and below that the dates of her birth and death, with a short dash between.  The space beneath was completely blank – in a curiously deliberate way.

 

All at once he realized what he was looking at.

 

“Oh,” he said again, thickly.  His trademark eloquence, hard at work.

 

“Yeah,” Martha replied quietly.  “I asked around.  None of the memorial manufacturers around here will put a monument on private property, or reproduce custom artwork on one.  However, there’s a welder I became friends with at my first duty base, and after he got out he started doing metal artwork.  Taking commissions, that sort of thing.  He said he could make a memorial out of Justine’s sketch.  He does the metalwork, we can set it in a simple concrete base, and I thought…” she paused.  “I thought you could choose somewhere around here we could put it.”

 

Alex found he couldn’t speak, could barely even breathe.  Everything Martha and George had done so far had conveyed their intention for him to be with them long-term.  He’d thought that he’d truly processed and accepted that. 

 

But this… this offered a sense of _permanence_ unlike anything he’d imagined before.

 

“It – it wouldn’t be too much trouble?” he asked tentatively.

"No," she said firmly. "We worked out a system. It would be fine."

That answered who Craig was, he thought distantly, and immediately dismissed it in favor of the weight of this incredible offering.

Having this one thing… it wouldn’t make up for losing her, but… just to have someplace to go when he needed to remember her, to _feel_ like he was somehow still close to her even when he wasn’t, someplace devoted just to _her…_   It meant more than he could ever possibly describe.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered.  He took one of Martha’s hands between both of his own.  She gave a gentle squeeze in response, and suddenly he was remembering her words from that grocery trip back in April.  He realized that that little squeeze conveyed more than just compassion – it spoke of understanding.  What she’d done meant more than any words of comfort or reassurance any other decent foster parent could have given.

 

It meant empathy.  And that might have been something he’d needed all along.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a short (narratively and in terms of word count) chapter, but I felt like the start and end points were right. It may be a bit more more minimalist than my other chapters, but I couldn't really think what else I might want to put into it. The arrival and setup of the memorial will either be its own short chapter, or will be the first half of the chapter in which school starts. We'll see how it plays out.
> 
> I made up the thing about the CPS help line; I don't know if the Virginia CPS even has one at all let alone a text based option, but I personally think it should be a thing.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and leaving any comments you choose to leave. They give me life!


	27. Yet Another Author's Note - expansion

Me getting mentally distracted by George/Martha backstory: This is fine. It'll be a one-off chapter that will fit in later in the story.

Me writing what was supposed to be one chapter of George/Martha backstory: ...It won't take long, and then my brain will be free to go back to Alex.

Me with 3k+ words of G/M backstory with more to go: ... This was supposed to be one quick chapter, damnit.

Me, part-way through a three-part prequel: THIS WHOLE THING WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SHORT, FUNNY, LIGHT-HEARTED PREMISE FIC, TEN CHAPTERS OR LESS. I STILL HAVE AT LEAST THREE MONTHS OF NARRATIVE AND PROBABLY AN EPILOGUE TO GET THROUGH. HOOWW???

I STILL HAVE TAXES TO FILE AND LOANS/JOBS TO APPLY FOR. HOW IS THIS MY LIFE?

(Insert Theoden's "How did it come to this?" gif)

So, yeah. Be on the lookout for this to become a short (SHORT) series sometime in the next few days, then in who-kows-how long, I'll write / post the next chapter in the main fic. 

My bad.

But to be totally honest, I deeply appreciate anyone who is sticking with me this far, and if you have the patience to keep sticking with me it would mean a lot. (And obvs sorry this wasn't an actual chapter). On a side note, can any of my younger readers give me a clue what high school is like these days? (before the CV19 crisis, I mean). Like any small bullet points would be helpful (it's been over a decade now since I graduated, god help me). 

So, sorry again, and thanks again:)

Edit 3/27/20: Hey guys, this is now a two-part series, and the first chapter of the aforementioned George/Martha prequel is up. Give it a look if you want!


	28. August VI - Even Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, another actual chapter. This is technically filler, I suppose, but filler with emotional purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for your patience. This is probably really rough, and definitely piecemeal, but hopefully it's at least somewhat effective. Mind that there's a new tag.
> 
> You can thank "Turn: Washington's Spies" on Netflix for the delay on this. I binged it and really liked it, but despite the relevance to the source material, it didn't provide inspiration for the tone/setting of this fic. Unfortunately.

 

The days following the CPS visit, and the revelation of Martha’s project, were… challenging.

Martha had tasked Alex with creating a short message or elegy to add to his mother’s memorial beneath her name and birth and death dates, before the final design could be sent to Craig.  And wasn’t that a vicious boxing match with his emotions.  He wracked his brain for what could possibly do her justice (without being excessively verbose), devoting a full night to it before being satisfied.  After he passed it on to Martha, he tried to put it from his mind until it would inevitably force its way back.  

In the mean time, there were other matters to focus on.  They received the results of the second home visit, as Lee promised, and thankfully Director Tallmadge’s listening and intervention had spared them any fallout of Lee’s reporting, so they’d passed well.  They’d even received a letter from her with their results, apologizing for his lack of professionalism and promising that he was now under review, likely to be dismissed or at least suspended.  So, that was a worry taken care of.

Then there were concerns specific to Alex he needed to give time to.

“So, your core classes for this year are already in place, but now it’s time to choose your electives,” George pointed out one afternoon, having called Alex to the kitchen to display the form that had arrived in the mail.  He already had the high school course catalogue open as well, as he gestured for Alex to take the chair beside his at the table.  “There aren’t too many options for your year, but I’m sure there’s something you’ll like.”

“I’m sure,” Alex agreed, mostly because he couldn’t muster much emotional energy for school matters at the moment (which he considered to be a clear mark of how much this time was affecting him).  “I only have two time slots to fill.  Let’s take a look.”  He began flipping through the booklet, while George nodded.

“Now, most colleges will want to see at least two years of a foreign language on your applications,” he said.  “They may or may not take into account that you’re already bilingual.”  

“And it wouldn’t really count as a ‘foreign language’ if I took a class in what I already speak,” Alex surmised.  “Which leaves French.  And… French.”

George winced.  “Yeah, this district’s foreign language department isn’t particularly expansive.  Same with the arts.  You’ve got your basics, and that’s pretty much it.”

Alex followed George’s comparison to the ‘arts’ category options.  “Band… I don’t play an instrument.  Orchestra, same.  Choir?  Probably inadvisable.  Drama?  Mmm… which leaves visual art.  I don’t know about that.  I can’t even take creative writing until next year?  Jeez.”

George gave a chuckle of sympathy, before turning contemplative.  “What makes you hesitant on choir or drama or art?” he asked.

Alex shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I’m happy to sing along to my favorite songs, but I’m probably not that great-sounding.  And I’m not even solid at reading music.  Same with art; I haven’t really tried drawing or whatever enough to know if I’m good, but it’s one of those things that probably requires a lot of practice, so I probably stink at it.  Drama, I don’t know.  I could probably memorize lines well enough, but beyond that it just seems kind of weird.  And they’d probably just have us do a bunch of Shakespeare and be done with it.”

“Hm, maybe, maybe not.  But your ambivalence is understandable; drama isn’t for everyone,” George replied with amusement, before sobering.  “Do you feel like you need to be good at something as soon as you start in order to enjoy it?”

Alex avoided George’s gaze by looking back at the catalogue without seeing it.

“Maybe,” he mumbled.  George let him organize his thoughts in silence without rushing him, and he was grateful for it.  “I just… I know that time will go really fast the older I get.  It already feels like it’s speeding up.  I don’t want to waste time doing something I’m not good at when I could be doing other things.  Things that could actually lead to something bigger in my life or make some kind of difference beyond me.  Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” George replied, before he shook his head sadly.  “Unfortunately, as far as I’ve seen, it’s an unachievable goal.”

Alex looked up at him, dismay battling against the disappointment of what he’d already guessed.

“No matter what professional path you take in life or what you aim to do, you’re going to have to spend some time learning something you’re not immediately skilled or well-versed in,” George said.  “Whether it’s a particular required class for a major, or a social skill like dealing with some sort of client, or some practical skill that you have to be able to do just for your own life’s stability.  I had to learn how to express my thoughts and feelings clearly even though it was incredibly difficult, both for teaching and for my relationships.  Martha and I both have to work hard to keep on top of paperwork and filing and things like that, because it’s difficult for us.  Things like that.”

“Hm.  Well, that’s quite inconvenient,” Alex mumbled.

George grinned in sympathy.  “Don’t you know it.  And besides, it’s okay to do something just for the fun of it, without necessarily being very skilled at it.  There’s a tiny bit of freedom to be found there.”

“Well, as nice as that idea sounds, I’d rather not tie my grades to it,” Alex replied.

“That’s fair.”

“And if my voice cracked in the middle of singing I know I’d want to crawl in a hole.”

George chuckled.  “I’m sure the choir director would understand.  But at any rate, you do still need to pick one of them.”

Alex eventually did decide on choir, because it was graded on attendance and participation, and, if the initial audition didn’t go well, he could switch to a different elective quickly.  Besides, he figured art would require buying supplies at some point, and he knew enough to guess that they wouldn’t be cheap.  He didn’t mention that to George, though.

“So.  That’s that,” he sighed, sitting back in his chair after he filled out the form to be mailed back.

“That’s that,” George agreed, folding it and sliding it into its return envelope.  In the quiet that seemed to get thicker and heavier with every second, Alex thought he almost knew what George would say before he said it.

“Do you want to talk?”  Oh, look at that.

He didn’t bother trying the ‘we’re already talking’ play.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled.  “And that’s not me being shifty; I really don’t know.  I don’t know if I’m feeling or thinking anything I haven’t already said, either to you two or to Derek.  I don’t even know if I’m feeling anything at this exact moment.”

“That’s okay,” George replied gently.  “Periods of numbness are common when dealing with grief, I’ve heard.”   

Alex crossed his arms on the tabletop and leaned over them, staring down at the grain of the wood as if it held the answers to life’s perplexities.  “I can’t decide which is worse.”

“That’s understandable.”  George paused.  “Do you want to focus on it directly, or see if it can be eased by doing something else?”

Alex shrugged, feeling quite out of his element with all this unpleasant confusion and uncertainty.  

George nodded in understanding.

“Tell you what: sometimes, if I have the opportunity, baking helps loosen up my thoughts and feelings so I can manage them easier.  Let’s make brownies, so— Alex.”  

He heard the slip-up; the first in months.  But it was cut off and corrected, and he realized he didn’t feel the old defensiveness rise up in response.  Replacing it was a spike of deep melancholy.  But… he didn’t want to be sad again, not right now.  He wanted to feel something, just not more grief (he shoved down the guilt that accompanied that thought before it could choke him up).  If George was offering a distraction, some sort of stimulus they could share, he’d take it.

“Why not?” he replied, standing up from the table.  George followed, and they approached the kitchen.  Alex mustered the energy to smirk.

“Am I to assume that they won’t be-“

“No, they won’t be pot brownies, you little hooligan,” George cut him off with a huff of amusement, throwing an arm around his shoulders and drawing him into his side.  “They’ll be regular brownies.  Though… I might add a legal special ingredient.”

“Well, now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“That’s the idea.”

*************

Alex sat facing Derek for his weekly appointment, the slightly-too-strong air conditioning in his office raising the beginnings of goosebumps on his arms.

“Did the baking help, then?” the therapist asked.

Alex shrugged, before leaning his elbows onto his knees and resting his chin in his hands.

“I don’t know.  We had a good time, I mean.  I did, at least, but all the bad stuff was still there afterward.  Or, I guess it came back.”

“Of course.  Here’s something important to keep in mind, Alex.  Distraction isn’t the same as catharsis, and catharsis doesn’t automatically mean healing.  It sounded like you experienced some catharsis when you opened up to George and Martha about what you’ve experienced.  But speaking about the grief and trauma doesn’t make it go away.”

“Yeah,” Alex muttered, raking a hand roughly through his hair, gripping some in a fist at the back of his neck.  He held it tighter than necessary, feeling the pull in his scalp.  “I noticed.”

Derek narrowed his eyes at him, but continued.  “The anniversary is soon, isn’t it?”

“Saturday,” Alex replied quietly.

The doctor gave him a curious look, like he could see something in Alex’s head straight through flesh and bone.

“I can’t help but think that there’s something specific bothering you about this situation.  Something you haven’t said.”

Alex frowned.  “I guess.  I think… I think it’s guilt.”

“Why are you feeling guilty?  Because you survived the typhoid and your mother didn’t?”

“I—“  He took a deep breath.  “I guess that’s part of it.  I mean, I know enough that she wouldn’t have wanted our places switched, at least I’m pretty sure, but it still sucks.”  He buried both hands in his hair this time.  “It’s more that… I mean, I agreed to baking brownies.  My mom’s passed two years this weekend, and I’m like, ‘yeah, sure, let’s make junk food.’  I don’t blame George, he wanted to help me feel better, but, like where was my brain at?”

He dragged in another heavy breath.

“I wanted to stop grieving, just for a little while,” he hissed, pulling harshly on a lock of hair again.  “I wanted to stop being sad about my mom being dead.  What kind of person does that make me?”

“It makes you human, Alex,” Derek insisted.  “It’s normal for someone to want relief from pain, no matter what kind it is.”

“But I’ve had relief already,” he retorted, his voice growing rough.  He gave a stray strand of hair in his face a harsh tug, freeing it from the others and flicking it away.  “I’ve had good times, here.”  He yanked out another strand in agitation, his hands seeming to move of their own accord, chasing the tiny pinpricks of sensation.  “I had my reprieve, and now she deserves-“

Derek was suddenly out of his chair and kneeling directly in front of the teen, taking hold of his wrists gently but firmly, holding them still.

“Alex.  Stop,” he said, brows furrowed in concern.  Alex startled.

“Huh?  What?  Why?”  He leaned upright in his chair, disoriented.  “What’s going on?”

“I was hoping you could tell me, but I’m not surprised you’re confused,” Derek said quietly.  He guided Alex’s hands down to rest on his knees before releasing them and standing up, withdrawing a few paces out of Alex’s personal space.  “Is this the first time you’ve inflicted pain on yourself as a coping mechanism?”

Alex stared up at him.  “What?”  He took a moment to think, to remember, before frowning incredulously.  “What, the… oh, come on.  Just because I pulled a bit of hair out?  I shed more than that when I take a shower.”

“Trichotillomania — compulsively pulling out hair — is a recognized form of self-injury,” Derek replied patiently.  “Even if it’s less overtly damaging or risky than more common forms like cutting or burning yourself.  It’s still a form of self-inflicted pain.  How long has it been going on?  How often?”

Alex looked down at the carpet, still skeptical but also uneasy, trying to think back.  “I don’t know.  Maybe four or five times over the past month, I guess.  Maybe occasionally, and, and irregularly before then.”  He paused.  “I… I think only pulled on it before; I don’t think I started actually pulling it out until today.  I— I honestly don’t think I realized I was doing it.”

“I’m not surprised, but I’m glad it seems like we caught it relatively early, before it escalated,” Derek replied with a sigh.  “I think it’s time to call in Martha and George.”  

Alex looked up at him, aghast.  “But-“

“You remember what I said on our first day, right?”

The teen deflated.  “Yeah.  Okay.”

So the doctor called the Washingtons in from the waiting room, and they came, taking the additional chairs and faces pinched with concern at having been summoned in early.  Derek explained the situation, and they both looked over at Alex, alarmed.  

“Alex, have you been thinking about-“ George began, obvious fear in his eyes.

“No,” the teen said firmly.  “I haven’t been thinking about… about _that_.  I promise.  This wasn’t a conscious decision, it’s… I don’t know.  An aggressive tick.”  He looked at the both directly in turn.  “I _promise_ ,” he repeated.

George’s shoulders sagged in such obvious relief, blinking rapidly and putting a nervous hand over his mouth, that it honestly broke Alex’s heart a little bit more.  Martha continued watching him like a hawk a few more moments, looking for giveaways of deception, before she finally, reluctantly looked back to Derek, her hands visibly tightening on her chair’s armrests.  They honestly were making Alex more nervous.  He hadn’t realized it was a problem.

“So what should we do?  What’s next?”

Derek opened one of hid desk drawers, withdrawing a printout and handing it to Alex.  “I’m giving you a list of alternative activities to try when you feel the compulsion to pull your hair or injure yourself in any way,” he began.  “I want each of you to make your own copy and keep it somewhere easily accessible; try to memorize it.  I also want to add a text-based check-in appointment each week to supplement Alex’s regular standing appointment.  Margaret up front will give you the number to use and tell you how to set it up.”  He paused.  “Because this was caught early, and trichotillomania is, comparatively speaking, one of the less dangerous forms of self-harm and Alex has given his word-“  Here he looked at Alex directly.  “-that he hasn’t had thoughts of more severe forms of self-injury, I don’t think it would be beneficial for you to be put under any formal watch at this time.”

Alex nodded, relief rushing through him.

“However.  A crucial element of reducing self-harming behavior and keeping it from escalating is vigilance,” he looked at the Washingtons, “and mindfulness,” he turned to Alex.  “I’ll email you all some further sources.  I’m also concerned with how returning to school will affect your mental health and treatment.  At least part of next week’s session will be devoted to preparing for that.”

They all nodded, and he reluctantly let them go, insisting they contact him directly if things worsened between then and next week.  They filed out of the appointment room silently, and retrieved the necessary information at the front desk before making their way out of the hospital.  The transition from the cool, shaded interior to the bright, humid heat outside was as jarring as the session itself had been.

As they crossed the parking lot, Martha kept a light but steady hand on his shoulder, as if anchoring him for fear he would drift away.  When they reached the car, George ignored his usual shotgun seat and got into the backseat on the opposite side from Alex, surprising him.  His surprise was brief, however, when he realized the purpose: to be present and ready when Alex suddenly felt the childish compulsion to lean across the empty space, against his side and taking shelter under his outstretched arm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be at least two more chapters for August now, which might make the pacing weird. I really wanted to include the memorial / actual anniversary scene, but it's been weeks and I just don't have that in me right now, but I did have this, so. I debated whether I wanted to include this / go this far into Alex's grief, but I did already have a few tiny seeds of precedent, and it felt relevant. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me, and hopefully I can get some momentum again.


	29. August VII - Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex comes across a piece of influential literature, and we finally get to the anniversary / memorial.

 

“Do you think having your hair a bit shorter would help?” Martha asked once they’d returned to the house.

He pushed a lock of hair behind his ear self-consciously.  “I don’t know.  I mean, probably not.  I don’t want to make a trip into town just for a haircut.”

“That wasn’t the question,” Martha reminded him softly; he looked down at his feet.  “But we would’t have to go into town.  I could do it.”

He looked up.  “You could?”

“Yeah.  It won’t look designer or anything, but I got decent at trims and fades in the barracks at my first duty base.  On-base barbers tended to be pretty booked up, so offering cheap cuts on the side was a good way to make a little extra money.”

“Oh.”  He considered for a moment.  He hadn’t had a major hair cut since… since he was in the med center after the hurricane.  A nasty cut on his head had required shaving a patch, and the rest had followed.  “Um… I don’t think I want it short right now.  For — reasons.”

She nodded.  “Okay.  We can just pull it back then.”

So she did, sitting behind him on the couch and weaving his hair into a simple braid.

“It’s been a while since I did this,” she mused as she worked.  “When I want my hair braided, George does it.”

Alex looked over at the man, eyeing his obviously short hair.  “You know how to braid?”

“Of course.  Martha says trying to braid your own in the back is killer on the arms.”

“Which it absolutely is,” she confirmed.  

Alex gave a small, tired smile.

************

It was Alex’s last time at the university library for the vague foreseeable future — also known as from the time his own school year started again, until who knew when there would be time.  George needed to drop some graded finals off at the administrative office, and Alex accepted the offer to tag along.  Despite his listlessness and general current lack of intellectual energy, he’d figure he’d at least take the opportunity, even if he didn’t end up properly using it.

He slowly serpentined his way between the book cases, letting his eyes roam over the titles but rarely taking them in.  Not paying much attention to where he went.  Intermittently he’d run his fingertips across the displayed spines or over the tops of the books temporarily housed on a “return here” cart.  Letting himself fall into a sort of sensory trance as he silently absorbed the pages’ texture, height, volume.  

Somewhere in a literature section, indulging in this trance caused him to accidentally knock a worn paperback off such a cart.  It softly thudded onto the carpet behind him, and he turned and bent to pick it up, idly noting its superficial details.

The title seemed kind of pretentious, to be honest.  Or, maybe not pretentious, but built by that kind of mix of religion and national focus that comforted some people but put others on edge.

Feeling the faintest stirrings of curiosity and with nothing better to do, he let his thumb flip the pages by, stopping at a random page, letting his eyes fall to a random line.

— _in the dark, in the dark, the Recording Angel opens its hundred eyes and snaps the spine of the Book of Life and—_

He let it curve itself closed, looking up at the row of dark unused computers in front of him without seeing them.

Alrighty, then.

‘Does any book really deserve to be treated so harshly?’ a very distant corner of his brain mused.  Well, depending on who wrote it or what it said… but that kind of thinking led to actual censorship, not the supposed censorship that assholes complained about when other people told them they were assholes and to shut up.  And, well, a vague theoretical book of Life…

An angel with a hundred eyes?  Sounded creepy.

He flipped to another random page.  

_Your problem is that you’re so full of piping hot crap, the mention of your name draws flies._

Damn!  What a burn.  He’d have to remember that one and save it.  He might read the book — play, he realized — just to know the character who uttered such a line.

He repeated the process to a new page, eyes drawn to a longer passage.

_Harper: In your experience of the world. How do people change?_

_Mormon Mother: Well it has something to do with God so it's not very nice._

Alex couldn’t help but give a short huff of cynical amusement.

_God splits the skin with a jagged thumbnail from throat to belly and then plunges a huge filthy hand in, he grabs hold of your bloody tubes and they slip to evade his grasp but he squeezes hard, he insists, he pulls and pulls till all your innards are yanked out—_

Eeewww.  But also…

He abruptly remembered the water rising to get him, like the jaw of an unknowable monster, the roaring of the wind in his ears.  He remembered seeing dead strangers, neighbors, homes torn inside out and cars floating past.  He remembered the fever that burned him from the inside and the chills and aches that seemed deep enough to crack his bones; he waking up in the hospital to be told his mother was dead.  He remembered how very differently Peter behaved when he was tripping, or when he was in the beginnings of withdraw, how gaunt and pale he looked in his hospital bed, hooked up to machines to purge the drugs from his system, how it felt when he was told he was being relinquished to Virginia bureaucracy.  He remembered how it felt when he realized he was completely, viscerally alone.

Being cut open and having your guts ripped out?  

Yeah.  Fitting.  

— _and the pain! We can't even talk about that. And then he stuffs them back, dirty, tangled and torn._

_It's up to you to do the stitching._

He wondered what Derek, or moreover, the Washingtons, would have to say about that.

He didn’t return the book to the cart, instead going downstairs to the first floor to wait for George.  He didn't have to wait long before the man arrived, his administrative business concluded.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Alex replied.  “Could we check this out?”  He held up the book.

“Certainly.”  George took the book from him, looking it over.  “Oh, this is excellent.  You should tell me when you’re done so we can talk about it.”

“You’ve read it then?”

“Oh yes.  While it does have the fantasy element, it’s also a relevant piece for socio-political history.”

That night, Alex read up to Roy’s conversation with Joe about parents.  He agreed up to a point with him about fathers, which he had some complicated feelings about.  Upon reading what the man said about mothers in comparison, however, he shut the book in disgust and frustration, deciding not to revisit it until after the anniversary.

*************

Saturday dawned bright, hot, and humid, with few enough low scattered clouds.  Today was not only the anniversary, but also the day the finished memorial was due to arrive.  Martha had informed him the previous night, saying they could formalize it somewhat if he wanted.  He agreed to a small sort-of ceremony… only to panic later that night.  

Faced with a personalized creation to commemorate his mother, what could he possible say out loud that would suffice?

Martha and George had already dug for the base, meeting the dimensions sent to them, in the spot Alex chose — along the side of the house his room looked down on, with a view of the river but not too close to it.  It seemed like the best place.

An hour after breakfast, Martha’s phone pinged with a text saying Craig was ten minutes out.  The three of them shortly trooped outside to meet him.

A pickup truck with a tarp tied over the bed was rumbling down the lane.  Once it reached the front of the house, the engine was shut off and two people got out, a man and a woman, Craig and presumably his wife or girlfriend (maybe sister or business partner?).  Martha greeted them both warmly and she and George shook their hands, before Craig turned to him.

“You must be Alex.”  

The teen nodded.  “Yes.  Nice to meet you.”

“I won’t make any terrible platitudes.  I’ll just say I’m sorry for your loss, and it was an honor to be asked to do your mother’s piece.”

Alex swallowed.  “Thank you.  It means a lot,” he replied quietly.

After a beat of silence, everyone seemed to decide that was the time to get down to business.  After hearing about the chosen spot, Craig got back in the truck and carefully drove onto the trimmed meadow grass and around the corner, reversing and backing closer.  Then he and the woman (Carla, who turned out to be both wife and business partner) pulled back the tarp, revealing the metal oval disk set into a rectangle of concrete, lying down horizontally.  It rested on another, stronger-looking tarp, which the two used to pull it out of the bed of the truck more easily.  Martha and George both took a corner then, and the four of them carefully lowered it to the ground.  

Alex had nervously asked to help, but the others told him it was covered, so he awkwardly stood back as they used the tarp to slide it across the grass to the dug hole.  Then at the very brink, Martha and Carla tilted it upright, and he could finally see the details.

There, in intricate soldering, was the Coquis frog clinging to the stem of the beehive ginger.  There were her name and birth and death dates.  And beneath them:

_Como las estrellas, veo tu luz aunque estés lejos._

_Like the stars, I see your light even if you're far away._

It was something she’d said about her own parents, both gone long before Alex’s permanent memory began.  It made him wonder about how much of her own grief she’d had to live with in her life.

The four adults used the tarp to slowly lower the base into its spot, then leaned it back and forth to work it free from the heavy concrete.  Finally, the memorial was in place.

They let him be for a time while they caught their breath, wiping sweat off their faces, before easing into small talk.  From what he heard, Alex surmised that the deal Martha had struck with was partly a modest fee, and partly arranging to let their daughter shadow her at work some time in the coming weeks, to help determine if she wanted to commit to medical school.  Dimly, Alex appreciated the bartering element to it.

Eventually business was concluded, plans were set, and goodbyes were said, before Craig and Carla were driving back down the lane and out of sight.  Once they were gone, Martha took a deep breath.

“Well, let’s go inside and change.”  So they did.  When they all returned, Alex was in the new black polo shirt and shorts they’d gotten him, George was dressed similarly except for long gray slacks instead of shorts, and Martha in a simple sleeveless black linen dress.  George carried a bouquet of sunflowers, augmented by purple and pink wildflowers from the field.  Alex hadn’t known about it, but he nodded his thanks.  Together, they made their way back to the freshly erected memorial, its shadow now erased by the overcast sky.

When they reached it, however, silence prevailed, broken only by the muggy breeze picking up.  Alex had asked for no music, no prayers, no speeches from the Washingtons.  They hadn’t known her, and they had done enough.

It was all up to him now.

“I…  I thought I’d have a million things to say… I used to, and I’m sure I will again at some point.  All I can think of is that it wasn’t fair; you should have had years, decades more.  And I know, life isn’t fair, and we have to cope with that.  But you still deserve more, and I still miss you every day, and will keep loving you every day.   I’m grateful for everything you did, and I’ll try to remember everything you taught me.”

George looked over to him.  “What things did she teach you?  If you’re willing to tell us.”

Asked to speak them out loud, he realized there were far more things than he initially thought.

“She gave me my first reading and writing lessons when I was small, and counting,” he recalled somberly.  “She tried to teach me about money management and savings, but I was little and thought it was boring.  In a more general sense… hard work and perseverance, mostly.  Compassion.  Being kind and cooperative even in the face of hardship.”  He looked down at his toes, suddenly ashamed.  “I’d forgotten that a bit after she died.  Before I came here with you.”

“That’s understandable, Alex,” Martha offered, with restraint.  Alex shook his head, clearing those thoughts away for another time.

“It wasn’t that she never got angry, though.  Some times I’d do normal stupid stuff and she’d get frustrated.  And oh, she’d come home ranting, mad as a wasp some days, about something some coworker or supervisor had done, some terrible policy the corporation she was temping for had pushed.  She always tried not to take it out on me, though.  

“It wasn’t about being gracious or poised for the hell of it.  Well, some of the time, yeah.  ‘Everyone’s fighting their own battles,’ she’s say.  ‘It’s just that some of them are fighting battles we’d find petty or absurd.  They’re still battles, though.’  I think she knew what she needed to present to the outside world to survive.”  He stared into the metallic frog’s eyes, wondering if she’d ever felt similarly small and vulnerable.  “Up to a point, at least.”

“I wish we could have met her,” George said gently.  

Alex pondered the oddness of a world in which such a thing could happen.

Meanwhile, Martha had shifted from watching Alex to subtly watching the sky.

 _Shit_ , she thought, watching a cumulonimbus cell build an alarmingly short distance away.  Just what they needed, to get a rain or thunderstorm now.

Her worries were unfortunately proven correct minutes later when the first fat raindrops fell.  Alex flinched when he felt the first make contact, and she reached out to touch his shoulder, to gently draw him away to shelter and return later.

“Wait.”

She pulled her hand back, watchful.

He turned to face them.  “I’d like to stay out here for a bit longer.  Alone.”

She frowned.  “You’ll get soaked.  In the storm,” she added, feeling a bizarre need to clarify.

“I… I know.”

And Alex did.  He knew what would happen if he stayed outside.  He’d be intensely reminded of the hurricane, while in the middle of trying to formally mourn his mother.  He was facing the intersection of his two worst traumas.

And, quite beyond sense or reason, he was suddenly okay with that.

He was tired of being spiritless, tired of distracting himself from the pain or trying to divert it.  Tired of having nothing to fight against, and knowing it, as he couldn’t physically fight the weather of the concept of communicable disease.  So he’d settle for fighting his own mind out in the open.

“Alex…” Martha began, her reluctance and concern clear in her voice.  He reached forward and took her hand.

“I know.  I remember.  But let me do this.  Please.”

She searched his face for a long moment, but what she was looking for exactly he couldn’t say.  Finally, she sighed and nodded.

“Alright.  But be aware of sudden changes.  If your hair starts to stand up or your skin starts to tingle, crouch down like this.”  She demonstrated, touching her heels together and covering her ears* while George nodded in corroboration, and waited for him to nod in acknowledgment before standing back upright.

“We’ll be on the porch when you’re ready.”

He nodded again, and George put the bouquet at the foot of the monument, and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before they withdrew.

************

He took deep breaths, in the way Derek had taught him, pushing his shoulders, rising with tension, back down.  He reminded himself of where he was, and where he wasn’t.  Even as he felt more and more drops hit his skin, he kept his eyes focused on the picture and text on the metal.

“There’s so much I never learned about who you were.  I never even thought to ask you about your dreams and ambitions, your ‘bucket list’ as they say.  I never asked about your deep fears or everything you lived through that I didn’t see.  I always thought we’d have more time, and now all that time is lost.”

************

“I don’t like this,” Martha muttered from where they stood watch on the covered porch.  They couldn’t hear what Alex was saying over the wind and the rain, as he’d undoubtedly wanted.  “He had at least an anxiety attack from the storm back in May.  This could set off another one.  And he could be struck by lightening if it gets too close.”

George looked sideways at her.  “I distinctly remember you talking about playing in thunderstorms as a kid,” he pointed out.

She frowned.  “Yeah, well…”  She didn’t finish her sentence.  George put an arm around her shoulders.

“I think this will help more than you think.”

“Probably,” she agreed quietly.

************

“Could you see how lost _I_ was without you?” Alex asked, raising his voice to hear himself over the rain.  He paused a moment, shaking his head with a bitter laugh.  “And here I thought I’d finished with the selfish side of the grief back home.  Of course, it didn’t look nearly as much like home by the end.”  He watched the water ping off and drip down the front and sides of the metal.

“Should I be grateful that you didn’t have to see it?  Or did you see it anyway?”  He swallowed painfully past the lump in his throat.  

“Did you have regrets?  Did you feel like you didn’t get to properly live your life?  That… that your responsibilities took up too much of it?  That _I_ took up too much of it?”  He drew in a ragged breath.  “Do you hate me for having moments of happiness here?  For wanting to stay with them as long as I can, if I can’t have you?”

His shoulders were shaking.  

“Are you lonely, wherever you are?  Are you with your parents or friends?  Are you even anywhere?”

The wind pulled at his clothes, and thunder boomed from a crack of lightening in the distance, and he finally tore his face away to look up at the sky, pointing up at it furiously, accusingly.

“And _you_!  You don’t even care, do you?!  You spread disease, and you soak up your heat and your moisture and you toss them around and throw it all back down at us tenfold and you don’t care who or what gets ripped apart in the process!  You just do it as the season comes, like a clock.”

He realized the truth of it once he’d said it, as he hadn’t properly before.  Made himself truly feel the rain and wind on his skin and the thunder in his ears, without being overwhelmed by them.  The clouds swirled together and apart like a painting, and, quite abruptly, he realized there was a violent, senseless beauty to it.

“You just do it.  You just _are_.  We’re nothing in comparison; we’re ants.  You just do what you’re meant to do.  It all does.  We all do.”

He looked back at the words and images raised against the metal face.

“We all do, Mamá.  I just wish you’d had more time for it.”

************

Finally, Alex was approaching the house from the memorial’s plot.  In moments, he was at the porch, soaked to the skin but calm.

“I needed that.  Thank you.”

They nodded.  “Of course,” George replied.  Alex was quiet for a moment, before speaking again.

“I’d like to change now, though.”

Martha gave a small smile.  “I’m glad to hear it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This is the proper way to try to survive a lightening strike, based on my brief research. Yeah, Martha's just a tad paranoid right now. They take turns holding the worry stick.
> 
> I hope the Spanish is correct, if not let me know.
> 
> It only took a month, but here we are. This was written very out of order, but I hope it's still comprehensible and effective.
> 
> This was a pain in the butt, not because it was too close to me, but in a way because it wasn't. My experience with death and grief is very different from Alex's, and for the longest time I had no idea of the details. Then, between a YouTube video (thanks again, Kyle) and the weather on the way home from work, inspiration struck, and I was eventually able to find the place where our experiences *do* intersect, so there's that. I hope it works.


End file.
